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ARTHUR  BONNICASTLE 


AN 


AMERICAN    NOVEL 


UY 

J.     G.     HOLLAND 


NEW   YORK 

CHARLES    SCRIBNER'S    SONS 
1891. 


COPYRIGHT  BY 

SCRIBNER,  ARMSTRONG   &  CO. 
1873 


COPYRIGHT  BY 
CHARLES   SCRIBNER'S   SONS 


TROWS 
NEW  YORK 


A  78 

CONTENTS 


CHAPTER   I. 

PAGH 

Thank  a  blind  horse  for  good  luck,  ...         .        .        .       I 

CHAPTER    II. 
!  visit  an  ogress  and  a  giant  in  their  enchanted  castle,    .        .     31 

CHAPTER    III. 

I  go  to  The  Bird's  Nest  to  live,  and  the  giant  persists  in  his 
plans  for  a  sea-voyage 44 

CHAPTER    IV. 
In  which  the  course  of  true  love  is  not  permitted  to  run  at  all,     64 

CHAPTER   V. 

The  discipline  of  The  Bird's  Nest  as  illustrated  by  two  start 
ling  public  trials, 74 

CHAPTER   VI. 

I  become  a  member  of  Mrs.  Sanderson's  family  and  have  a 
wonderful  voyage  with  Jenks  upon  the  Atlas,   .        .        .98 

CHAPTER   VII. 
I  leave  The  Bird's  Nest  and  make  a  great  discovery,      .        .   114 


vi  Contents. 

CHAPTER   VIII. 

PA<;B 

I  am  introduced  to  new  characters  and  enter  the  shadow  of 
the  great  Bedlow  revival 321 

CHAPTER    IX. 
1  pass  through  a  terrible  tempest  into  the  sunlight,          .        .15} 

CHAPTER   X. 
I  join  a  church  that  leaves  out  Mr.  Bradford  and  Millie,          .   i6g 

CHAPTER    XI. 

The  old  portrait  is  discovered  and  old  Jenks  has  a  real  voy 
age  at  sea, i26 

CHAPTER    XII. 
Mrs.  Sanderson  takes  a  companion  and  I  go  to  college,          .  203 

CHAPTER   XIII. 

The  beginning  of  college  life — I  meet  Peter  Mullens,  Gor 
don  Livingston,  and  temptation, 217 

CHAPTER   XIV. 
My  first  visit  to  New  York,  and  my  first  glass  of  wine,    .         .  232 

CHAPTER   XV. 
I  go  out  to  make  New  Year's  calls  and  return  in  disgrace,      .  243 

CHAPTER   XVI. 
Peter  Mullens  acquires  a  very  large  stock  of  old  clothes,         .  259 

CHAPTER   XVII. 

1  change  my  religious  views  to  conform  with  my  moral  prac 
tice,  and  am  graduated  without  honors,     .        .         ,        .  267 

CHAPTER   XVIII. 

Henry  becomes  a  guest  at  The  Mansion  by  force  of  circum 
stances,        284 


Contents.  vii 

CHAPTER  XIX. 

FAGS 

Jenks  goes  far,  far  away  upon  the  billow,  and  never  comes 
back 2oc) 

CHAPTER   XX. 

Mr.  Bradford  tells  me  a  story  which  changes  the  determina 
tions  of  my  life, 307 

CHAPTER   XXI. 
1  meet  an  old  friend  who  becomes  my  rival,     ....  324 

CHAPTER   XXII. 

Mrs.    Sanderson   meets  her   grandson    and  I  return   to   my 
father's  home 343 

CHAPTER  XXIII. 

I  take  Arthur  Bonnicastle  upon  my  own  hands  and  succeed 
with  him, 365 

CHAPTER   XXIV. 

In  which  I  learn  something  about  Livingston,  Millie  Brad 
ford   and  myself, 377 

CHAPTER   XXV. 

I  win  a  wife  and  home  of  my  own,  and  The  Mansion  loses  and 
gains  a  mistress,  386 

CHAPTER  XXVI. 

Which  briefly  records  the  professional  life  of  Rev,  Peter  Mul 
lens,      404 

CHAPTER  XXVII 

In  which  I  say  good-night  to  my  friends  and  the  past,  and 
good-morrow  to  my  work  and  the  future,          .        .        .  413 


ARTHUR  BONNICASTLE. 


CHAPTER  I. 

THANK  A   BLIND   HORSE   FOR   GOOD   LUCK. 

LIFE  looks  beautiful  from  both  extremities.  Prospect 
and  retrospect  shine  alike  in  a  light  so  divine  as  to  sug 
gest  that  the  first  catches  some  radiance  from  the  gates, 
not  yet  closed,  by  which  the  soul  has  entered,  and  that 
the  last  is  illuminated  from  the  opening  realm  into  which 
it  is  soon  to  pass. 

Now  that  they  are  all  gone,  I  wrap  myself  in  dreams 
of  them,  and  live  over  the  old  days  with  them.  Even 
the  feeblest  memory,  that  cannot  hold  for  a  moment  the 
events  of  to-day,  keeps  a  firm  grasp  upon  the  things 
of  youth,  and  rejoices  in  its  treasures.  It  is  a  curious 
process — this  of  feeling  one's  way  back  to  childhood, 
and  clothing  one's  self  again  with  the  little  frame — the 
buoyant,  healthy,  restless  bundle  of  muscles  and  nerves 
—and  the  old  relations  of  careless  infancy.  The  grow 
ing  port  of  later  years  and  the  ampler  vestments  are  laid 
aside  ;  and  one  stands  in  his  slender  young  manhood. 
Then  backward  still  the  fancy  goes,  making  the  frame 
smaller,  and  casting  aside  each  year  the  changing  gar 
ments  that  marked  the  eras  of  early  growth,  until,  at 


2  Arthur  Bonnicastle. 

last,  one  holds  himself  upon  his  own  knee — a  ruddy- 
faced,  wondering,  questioning,  uneasy  youngster,  in  his 
first  trousers  and  roundabout,  and  dandles  and  kisses 
the  dear  little  fellow  that  he  was  ! 

They  were  all  here  then— father,  mother,  brothers  and 
sisters  ;  and  the  family  life  was  at  its  fullest.  Now  they 
are  all  gone,  and  I  am  alone.  All  the  present  relations 
of  my  life  are  those  which  have  originated  since.  I 
have  wife  and  children,  and  troops  of  friends,  yet  still  I 
am  alone.  No  one  of  all  the  number  can  go  back  with 
me  into  these  reminiscences  of  my  earliest  life,  or  give 
me  sympathy  in  them. 

My  father  was  a  plain,  ingenious,  industrious  crafts 
man,  and  a  modest  and  thoroughly  earnest  Christian.  I 
have  always  supposed  that  the  neighbors  held  him  in 
contempt  or  pity  for  his  lack  of  shrewdness  in  business, 
although  they  knew  that  he  was  in  all  respects  their  su 
perior  in  education  and  culture.  He  was  an  omnivorous 
reader,  and  was  so  intelligent  in  matters  of  history  and 
poetry  that  the  village  doctor,  a  man  of  literary  tastes, 
found  in  him  almost  his  only  sympathetic  companion. 
The  misfortunes  of  our  family  brought  them  only  too 
frequently  together  ;  and  my  first  real  thinking  was  ex 
cited  by  their  conversations,  to  which  I  was  always  an 
eager  listener. 

My  father  was  an  affectionate  man.  His  life  seemed 
bound  up  in  that  of  my  mother,  yet  he  never  gave  a  di 
rect  expression  to  his  affection.  I  knew  he  could  not 
Jive  without  her,  yet  I  never  saw  him  kiss  her,  or  give 
her  one  caress.  Indeed,  I  do  not  remember  that  he 
ever  kissed  me,  or  my  sisters.  We  all  grew  up  hungry, 
missing  something,  and  he,  poor  man,  was  hungriest  of 
all  ;  but  his  Puritan  training  held  him  through  life  in 
slavery  to  notions  of  propriety  which  forbade  all  im 
pulses  to  expression.  He  would  have  been  ashamed  to 
kiss  his  wife  in  the  presence  of  his  children  ! 


Arthur  Bonnicastle.  3 

I  suppose  it  is  this  peculiarity  of  my  father  which 
makes  me  remember  so  vividly  and  so  gratefully  a  little 
incident  of  my  boyhood.  It  was  an  early  summer  even 
ing  ;  and  the  yellow  moon  was  at  its  full.  I  stood  out  in 
the  middle  of  the  lawn  before  the  house  alone,  looking 
up  to  the  golden-orbed  wonder,  which — so  high  were  the 
hills  piled  around  our  little  valley — seemed  very  near  to 
me.  I  felt  rather  than  saw  my  father  approaching  me. 
There  was  no  one  looking,  and  he  half  knelt  and  put  his 
arm  around  me.  There  was  something  in  the  clasp  of 
that  strong,  warm  arm  that  I  have  never  forgotten.  It 
thrilled  me  through  with  the  consciousness  that  I  was 
most  tenderly  beloved.  Then  he  told  me  what  the  moon 
was,  and  by  the  simplest  illustrations  tried  to  bring  to 
my  mind  a  comprehension  of  its  magnitude  and  its  re 
lations  to  the  earth.  I  only  remember  that  I  could  not 
grasp  the  thought  at  all,  and  that  it  all  ended  in  his  tak 
ing  me  in  his  arms  and  carrying  me  to  my  bed. 

The  seclusion  in  which  we  lived  among  the  far  New 
Hampshire  hills  was  like  that  in  which  a  family  of  squir 
rels  lives  in  the  forest  ;  and  as,  at  ten  years  of  age,  I  had 
never  been  ten  miles  from  home,  the  stories  that  came 
to  my  ears  of  the  great  world  that  lay  beyond  my  vision 
were  like  stories  of  fairy-land.  Fifty  years  ago  the 
echoes  of  the  Revolution  and  the  War  of  1812  ha'd  not 
died  away,  and  soldiers  who  had  served  in  both  wars 
were  plenty.  My  imagination  had  been  many  times  ex 
cited  by  the  stories  that  had  been  told  at  my  father's 
fireside;  and  those  awful  people,  "the  British,"  were  to 
me  the  embodiment  of  cruelty  and  terror.  One  evening, 
I  remember,  my  father  came  in,  and  remarked  that  he 
had  just  heard  the  report  of  a  cannon.  The  phrase  was 
new,  and  sounded  very  large  and  significant  to  me,  and 
I  attributed  it  at  once  to  the  approach  of  "  the  British.'' 
My  father  laughed,  but  I  watched  the  converging  roads 
for  the  appearance  of  the  red-coats  for  many  days. 


4  Arthur  Bonnicastle. 

The  incident  is  of  no  value  except  to  show  how  closely 
between  those  green  hills  my  life  had  been  bound,  and 
how  entirely  my  world  was  one  of  imagination.  I  was 
obliged  to  build  the  world  that  held  alike  my  facts  and 
my  fancies. 

When  I  was  about  ten  years  old,  I  became  conscious 
that  something  was  passing  between  my  father  and  my 
mother  of  an  unusual  character.  They  held  long  con 
ferences  from  which  their  children  were  excluded.  Then 
a  rich  man  of  the  neighborhood  rode  into  the  yard,  and 
tied  his  horse,  and  walked  about  the  farm.  From  a  long 
tour  he  returned  and  entered  the  stable,  where  he  was 
joined  by  my  father.  Both  came  into  the  house  together, 
and  went  all  over  it,  even  down  to  the  cellar,  where  they 
held  a  long  conversation.  Then  they  were  closeted  for 
an  hour  in  the  room  which  held  my  father's  writing-desk. 
At  last,  my  mother  was  called  into  the  room.  The  chil 
dren,  myself  among  them,  were  huddled  together  in  a 
corner  of  the  large  kitchen,  filled  with  wonder  at  the 
strange  proceedings  ;  and  when  all  came  out,  the 
stranger  smiling  and  my  father  and  mother  looking  very 
serious,  my  curiosity  was  at  a  painful  height ;  and  no 
sooner  had  the  intruder  vanished  from  the  room — 
pocketing  a  long  paper  as  he  went — than  I  demanded 
an  explanation. 

My  sisters  were  older  than  I,  and  to  them  the  explana 
tion  was  addressed.  My  father  simply  said  at  first :  "  I 
have  sold  the  place."  Tears  sprang  into  all  our  eyes,  as 
if  a  .great  calamity  had  befallen  us.  Were  we  to  be 
wanderers  ?  Were  we  to  have  no  home  ?  Where  were 
we  to  go  ? 

Then  my  father,  who  was  as  simple  as  a  child,  under 
took  the  justification  of  himself  to  his  children.  He  did 
not  know  why  he  had  consented  to  live  in  such  a  place 
for  a  year.  He  told  the  story  of  the  fallacious  promises 
and  hopes  that  had  induced  him  to  buy  the  farm  at  first; 


Arthur  Bonnicastle.  5 

of  his  long  social  deprivations  ;  of  his  hard  and  often 
unsuccessful  efforts  to  make  the  year's  income  meet  the 
year's  constantly  increasing  expenses ;  and  then  he 
dwelt  particularly  on  the  fact  that  his  duty  to  his  chil 
dren  compelled  him  to  seek  a  home  where  they  could 
secure  a  better  education,  and  have  a  chance,  at  least,  to 
make  their  way  in  the  world.  I  saw  then,  just  as  clearly 
as  I  see  to-day,  that  the  motives  of  removal  all  lay  in 
the  last  consideration.  He  saw  possibilities  in  his  chil 
dren  which  demanded  other  circumstances  and  surround 
ings.  He  knew  that  in  his  secluded  home  among  the 
mountains  they  could  not  have  a  fair  chance  at  life,  and 
he  would  not  be  responsible  for  holding  them  to  associa 
tions  that  had  been  simply  starvation  and  torment  to  him. 

The  first  shock  over,  I  turned  to  the  future  with  the 
most  charming  anticipations.  My  life  was  to  be  led  out 
beyond  the  hills  into  an  unknown  world  !  I  learned  the 
road  by  which  we  were  to  go  ;  and  beyond  the  woods  in 
which  it  terminated  to  my  vision  my  imagination  pushed 
through  splendid  towns,  across  sweeping  rivers,  over  vast 
plains  and  meadows,  on  and  on  to  the  wide  sea.  There 
were  castles,  there  were  ships,  there  were  chariots  and 
horses,  there  was  a  noble  mansion  swept  and  garnished, 
waiting  to  receive  us  all,  and,  more  than  all,  there  was 
a  life  of  great  deeds  which  should  make  my  father  proud 
of  his  boy,  and  in  which  I  remember  that  "  the  British" 
were  to  be  very  severely  handled. 

The  actual  removal  hardly  justified  the  picture.  There 
were  two  overloaded  three-horse  teams,  and  a  high,  old- 
fashioned  wagon,  drawn  by  a  single  horse,  in  which  were 
bestowed  the  family,  the  family  satchels,  and  the  ma 
chinery  of  an  eight-day  clock— a  pet  of  my  father,  who 
had  had  it  all  in  pieces  for  repairs  every  year  since  I  was 
born.  I  did  not  burden  the  wagon  with  my  presence, 
but  found  a  seat,  when  I  was  not  running  by  the  way 
side,  with  the  driver  of  one  of  the  teams.  He  had 


6  Arthur  Bonnicastle. 

attracted  me  to  his  company  by  various  sly  nods  and 
winks,  and  by  a  funny  way  of  talking  to  his  horses.  He 
was  an  old  teamster,  and  knew  not  only  every  inch  of 
the  road  that  led  to  the  distant  market-town  to  which 
we  were  going,  but  every  landlord,  groom,  and  bar 
keeper  on  the  way.  A  man  of  such  vast  geographical 
knowledge,  and  such  extensive  and  interesting  acquaint 
ance  with  men,  became  to  me  a  most  important  per 
sonage.  When  he  had  amused  himself  long  enough 
with  stories  told  to  excite  my  imagination,  he  turned  to 
me  sharply  and  said  : 

"  Boy,  do  you  ever  tell  lies  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir,"  I  answered,  without  hesitation. 

"  You  do  ?  Then  why  didn't  you  lie  when  I  asked  you 
the  question  ?  " 

"  Because  I  never  lie  except  to  please  people,"  I  re 
plied. 

"  Oh  !  you  are  one  of  the  story-tellers,  are  you  ?  "  he 
said,  in  a  tone  of  severity. 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Well,  then,  you  ought  to  be  flogged.  If  I  had  a 
story-telling  boy  I  would  flog  it  out  of  him.  Truth,  boy 
— always  stand  by  the  truth !  It  was  only  this  time  last 
year  that  I  was  carrying  a  load  of  goods  down  the  moun 
tain  for  a  family  the  same  as  yours,  and  there  was  a  lit 
tle  boy  who  went  with  me  the  same  as  you  are  going 
now.  I  was  sure  I  smelt  tobacco.  Said  I,  '  I  smell  to 
bacco.'  He  grew  red  in  the  face,  and  I  charged  him 
with  having  some  in  his  pocket.  He  declared  he  had 
none  and  I  said,'  We  shall  see  what  will  come  to  liars.' 
I  pitied  him,  for  I  knew  something  terrible  would  hap 
pen.  A  strap  broke,  and  the  horses  started  on  a  run,  and 
off  went  the  boy.  I  stopped  them  as  soon  as  I  could, 
ran  back  and  picked  him  up  insensible,  with  as  hand 
some  a  plug  of  tobacco  in  his  pocket  as  you  ever  saw  ; 
and  the  rascal  had  stolen  it  from  his  grandmother  J 


Arthur  Bonnicastle.  f 

Always  speak  the  truth,  my  boy,  always  speak  the 
truth!" 

"  And  did  you  steal  the  tobacco  from  him  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  No,  lad,  I  took  it  and  used  it,  because  I  knew  it 
would  hurt  him,  and  I  couldn't  bear  the  thought  of  expos 
ing  him  to  his  grandmother." 

"  Do  you  think  lying  is  worse  than  stealing?  "  I  asked. 

"  That  is  something  we  can't  settle.  Tobacco  is  very 
preserving  and  cleansing  to  the  teeth,  and  I  am  obliged 
to  use  it.  Do  you  see  that  little  building  we  are  coming 
to  ?  That  is  Snow's  store  :  and  now,  if  you  are  a  boy 
that  has  any  heart — any  real  heart — and  if  you  have  saved 
up  a  few  pennies,  you  will  go  in  there  and  get  a  stick  of 
candy  for  yourself  and  a  plug  of  tobacco  for  me.  That 
would  be  the  square  thing  for  a  boy  to  do  who  stands  by 
the  truth,  and  wants  to  do  a  good  turn  to  a  man  that 
helps  him  along ; "  and  he  looked  me  in  the  eye  so 
steadily  and  persuasively,  that  resistance  was  impossible, 
and  my  poor  little  purse  went  back  into  my  pocket 
painfully  empty  of  that  which  had  seemed  like  wealth. 

We  rode  along  quietly  after  this  until  my  companion 
asked  me  if  I  knew  how  tall  I  was.  Of  course  I  did  not 
know  anything  about  it,  and  wished  to  learn  the  reason 
of  the  question.  He  had  a  little  boy  of  his  own  at  home 
— a  very  smart  little  fellow — who  could  exactly  reach  the 
check-rein  of  his  leading  horse.  He  had  been  wonder 
ing  if  I  could  do  the  same.  He  should  think  we  were 
about  the  same  height,  and  as  it  would  be  a  tiptoe 
stretch,  the  performance  would  be  a  matter  of  spring 
and  skill.  At  that  moment  it  happened  that  we  came  to 
a  watering-trough,  which  gave  me  the  opportunity  to 
satisfy  his  curiosity  ;  and  he  sat  smiling  appreciatively 
upon  my  frantic  and  at  last  successful  efforts  to  release 
the  leader's  head,  and  lift  it  again  to  its  check. 

We  came  to  a  steep  acclivity,  and,  under  the  stimulat 
ing  influence  of  the  teamster's  flattery,  I  carried  a  stone 


8  Arthur  Bonnicastle. 

as  large  as  my  head  from  the  bottom  to  the  top,  to  sta} 
the  wheels  when  the  horses  paused  for  breath. 

I  recall  the  lazy  rascal's  practice  upon  my  boyish 
credulity  and  vanity  more  for  my  interest  in  my  own 
childishness  than  for  any  interest  I  still  have  in  him  ; 
though  I  cannot  think  that  the  jolly  old  joker  was  long 
ago  dust,  without  a  sigh.  He  was  a  great  man  to  me 
then,  and  he  stirred  me  with  appeals  to  my  ambition  as 
few  have  stirred  me  since.  And  "standing  by  the 
truth,"  as  he  so  feelingly  adjured  me  to  stand,  I  may 
confess  that  his  appeals  were  not  the  basest  to  which 
my  life  has  responded. 

The  forenoon  was  long,  hot  and  wearisome,  but  at  its 
close  we  emerged  upon  a  beautiful  valley,  and  saw  be 
fore  us  a  characteristic  New  England  village,  with  its 
white  houses,  large  and  little,  and  its  two  homely  wooden 
spires.  I  was  walking  as  I  came  in  sight  of  the  village, 
and  I  stopped,  touched  with  the  poetry  of  the  peaceful 
scene.  Just  then  the  noon-bell  pealed  forth  from  one 
of  the  little  churches — the  first  church-bell  I  had  ever 
heard.  I  did  not  know  what  it  was,  and  was  obliged  to 
inquire.  I  have  stood  under  the  belfry  of  Bruges  since, 
and  heard,  amid  the  dull  jargon  of  the  decaying  city,  the 
chimes  from  its  silver-sounding  bells  with  far  less  of 
emotion  than  I  experienced  that  day,  as  I  drank  my 
first  draught  of  the  wonderful  music.  O  sweet  first  time 
of  everything  good  in  life  ! 

Thank  heaven  that,  with  an  eternity  of  duration  be 
fore  us,  there  is  also  infinity  of  resources,  with  ever-vary 
ing  supply  and  ministry,  and  ever-recurring  first  times  ! 

My  father  and  the  rest  of  the  family  had  preceded  us, 
and  we  found  them  waiting  at  the  village  tavern  for  our 
arrival.  Dinner  was  ready,  and  I  was  quite  ready  for  it, 
though  I  was  not  so  much  absorbed  that  I  cannot  recall 
to-day  the  fat  old  woman  with  flying  cap-strings  who 
waited  at  the  table.  Indeed,  were  I  an  artist,  I  could 


Arthur  Bonnicastlc.  9 

reproduce  the  pictures  on  the  walls  of  the  low,  long  din 
ing-room  where  we  ate,  so  strongly  did  they  impress 
themselves  upon  my  memory.  We  made  but  a  short 
stay,  and  then  in  our  slow  way  pressed  on.  My  friend 
of  the  team  had  evidently  found  something  more  exhila 
rating  at  the  tavern  than  tobacco,  and  was  confidential 
and  affectionate,  not  only  toward  me  but  toward  all  he 
met  upon  the  road,  of  whom  he  told  me  long  and  mar 
vellous  histories.  But  he  grew  dull  and  even  ill-tem 
pered  at  last,  and  I  had  a  quiet  cry  behind  a  projecting 
bedstead,  for  very  weariness  and  homesickness. 

I  was  too  weary  when  at  dusk  we  arrived  at  the  end 
of  our  day's  progress  to  note,  or  care,  for  anything.  My 
supper  was  quickly  eaten,  and  I  was  at  once  in  the  ob 
livion  of  sleep.  The  next  day's  journey  was  unlike  the 
first,  in  that  it  was  crowded  with  life.  The  villages  grew 
larger,  so  as  quite  to  excite  my  astonishment.  I  saw, 
indeed,  the  horses  and  the  chariots.  There  were  signs 
of  wealth  that  I  had  never  seen  before — beautifully  kept 
lawns,  fine,  stately  mansions,  and  gayly-dressed  ladies, 
who  humiliated  me  by  regarding  me  with  a  sort  of 
stately  curiosity ;  and  I  realized  as  I  had  never  done  be 
fore  that  there  were  grades  of  life  far  above  that  to 
which  I  had  been  accustomed,  and  that  my  father  was 
comparatively  a  poor,  plain  man. 

Toward  the  close  of  the  second  afternoon  we  came  in 
sight  of  Bradford,  which,  somewhere  within  its  limits, 
contained  our  future  home.  There -were  a  dozen  stately 
spires,  there  were  tall  chimneys  waving  their  plumes  oi 
pearly  smoke,  there  were  long  rows  of  windows  red  in 
the  rays  of  the  declining  sun,  there  was  a  river  winding 
away  into  the  distance  between  its  borders  of  elm  and 
willow,  and  there  were  white -winged  craft  that  glided 
hither  and  thither  in  the  far  silence. 

"What  do  you  think  of  that,  boy?"  inquired  my 
friend  the  teamster. 


io  Arthur  Bonnicastle. 

"Isn't  it  pretty!"  I  responded.  "  Isn't  it  a  grand 
place  to  live  in  ?  " 

"  That  depends  upon  whether  one  lives  or  starves," 
he  said.  "  If  I  were  going  to  starve,  I  would  rather  do 
it  where  there  isn't  anything  to  eat." 

"  But  we  are  not  going  to  starve,"  I  said.  "  Father 
never  will  let  us  starve." 

"  Not  if  he  can  help  it,  boy  ;  but  your  father  is  a  lamb 
• — a  great,  innocent  lamb." 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  calling  my  father  a  lamb  ? 
He  is  as  good  a  man  as  there  is  in  Bradford,  any  way," 
I  responded,  somewhat  indignantly. 

The  man  gave  a  new  roll  to  the  enormous  quid  in  his 
mouth,  a  solace  that  had  been  purchased  by  my  scanty 
pennies,  and  said,  with  a  contemptuous  smile,  "Oh! 
he's  too  good.  Some  time  when  you  think  of  it,  suppose 
you  look  and  see  if  he  has  ever  cut  his  eye-teeth." 

"  You  are  making  fun  of  my  father,  and  I  don't  like 
it.  How  should  you  like  to  have  a  man  make  fun  of  you 
to  your  little  boy  ?  " 

At  this  he  gave  a  great  laugh,  and  I  knew  at  once 
that  he  had  no  little  boy,  and  that  he  had  been  playing 
off  a  fiction  upon  me  throughout  the  whole  journey.  It 
was  my  first  encounter  with  a  false  and  selfish  world 
To  find  in  my  hero  of  the  three  horses  and  the  large  ac 
quaintance  only  a  vulgar  rascal  who  could  practice  upon 
the  credulity  of  a  little  boy  was  one  of  the  keenest  dis 
appointments  I  had  ever  experienced. 

"  If  I  could  hurt  you,  I  would  strike  you,"  I  said  in  a 
rage. 

"  Well,  boy,"  he  replied  almost  affectionately,  and 
quite  admiringly,  "  you  will  make/0wr  way,  if  you  have 
that  sort  of  thing  in  you.  I  wouldn't  have  believed  it 
Upon  my  word,  I  wouldn't  have  believed  it.  I  take  it 
all  back.  Your  father  is  a  first-rate  man  for  heaven,  if 
he  isn't  for  Bradford ;  and  he's  sure  to  go  there  when  he 


Arthur  Bonnicastle.  \\ 

moves  next,  and  I  should  like  to  be  the  one  to  move 
him,  but  I'm  afraid  they  wouldn't  let  me  in  to  unload  the 
goods." 

There  was  an  awful  humor  in  this  strange  speech 
which  I  fully  comprehended,  but  my  reverence  for  even 
the  name  of  heaven  was  so  profound  that  I  did  not  dare 
to  laugh.  I  simply  said  :  "  I  don't  like  to  hear  you  talk 
so,  and  I  wish  you  wouldn't." 

"  Well,  then,  I  won't,  my  lad.  They  say  the  lame 
and  the  lazy  are  always  provided  for,  and  I  don't  know 
why  the  lambs  are  not  just  as  deserving.  You'll  all  get 
through,  I  suppose  ;  and  a  hundred  years  hence  there 
will  be  no  difference." 

"Who  provides  for  the  lame  and  the  lazy?"  I  in 
quired. 

"  Well,  now  you  have  me  tight,"  said  the  fellow  with  a 
sigh.  "  Somebody  up  there,  I  s'pose  ;  "  and  he  pointed 
his  whip  upward  with  a  little  toss. 

"  Don't  you  know?  "  I  inquired,  with  ingenuous  and 
undisguised  wonder. 

"  Not  a  bit  of  it.  I  never  saw  him.  I've  been  lazy  all 
my  life,  and  I  was  lame  once  for  a  year,  falling  from  this 
very  wagon,  and  a  mighty  rough  time  I  had  of  it,  too  ; 
and  so  far  as  I  am  concerned  it  has  been  a  business  of 
looking  out  for  number  one.'  Nobody  ever  let  down  a 
silver  spoon  full  of  honey  to  me  ;  and  what  is  more,  I 
don't  expect  it.  If  you  have  that  sort  of  thing  in  your 
head,  the  best  way  is  to  keep  it.  You'll  be  happier,  I 
reckon,  in  the  long  run  if  you  do  ;  but  I  didn't  get  it  in 
early,  and  it  is  too  late  now." 

"  Then  your  father  was  a  goat,  wasn't  he  ? "  I  said, 
with  a  quick  impulse. 

"  Yes,"  he  replied  with  a  loud  laugh.  "  Yes  indeed  : 
he  was  a  goat  with  the  biggest  and  wickedest  pair  of 
horns  you  ever  saw.  Boy,  remember  what  I  tell  you. 
Goodness  in  this  world  is  a  thing  of  fathers  and  mothers 


12  Arthur  Bonnicastle. 

I  haven't  any  children,  and  I  shouldn't  have  any  right  ta 
them  if  I  had.  People  who  bring  children  into  the  world 
that  they  are  not  fit  to  take  care  of,  and  who  teach  them 
nothing  but  drinking  and  fighting  and  swearing,  ought 
to  be  shot.  If  I  had  had  your  start,  I  should  be  all 
right  to-day." 

So  I  had  another  lesson — two  lessons,  indeed — one  in 
the  practical  infidelity  of  the  world,  and  one  in  social 
and  family  influence.  They  haunted  me  for  many  days, 
and  brought  to  me  a  deeper  and  a  more  intelligent  re 
spect  for  my  father  and  his  goodness  and  wisdom  than  I 
had  ever  entertained. 

"I  wish  I  were  well  down  that  hill,"  said  my  teamster 
at  last,  after  we  had  jolted  along  for  half  a  mile  without 
a  word.  As  he  said  this  he  looked  uneasily  around 
upon  his  load,  which,  with  the  long  transportation,  had 
become  loose.  He  stopped  his  horses,  and  gave  another 
turn  to  the  pole  with  which  he  had  strained  the  rope 
that,  passing  lengthwise  and  crosswise  the  load,  held  it 
together.  Then  he  started  on  again.  I  watched  him 
closely,  for  I  saw  real  apprehension  on  his  face.  His 
horses  were  tired,  and  one  of  them  was  blind.  The  lat 
ter  fact  gave  me  no  apprehension,  as  the  driver  had 
taken  much  pains  to  impress  upon  me  the  fact  that  the 
best  horses  were  always  blind.  He  only  regretted  that 
he  could  not  secure  them  for  his  whole  team,  principally 
on  account  of  the  fact  that  not  having  any  idea  how  far 
they  had  travelled,  they  never  knew  when  to  be  tired. 
The  reason  seemed  sound,  and  I  had  accepted  it  in  good 
faith. 

When  we  reached  the  brow  of  the  hill  that  descended 
into  the  town,  I  saw  that  he  had  some  reason  for  his  ap 
prehension,  and  I  should  have  alighted  and  taken  to  my 
feet  if  I  had  not  been  as  tired  as  the  horses.  But  I  had 
faith  in  the  driver,  and  faith  in  the  poor  brutes  he  drove, 
and  so  remained  on  my  seat.  Midway  the  hill,  the  blind 


ArtJmr  Bonnicastle.  ij 

horse  stepped  upon  a  rolling  stone  ;  and  all  I  remember 
of  the  scene  which  immediately  followed  was  a  confused 
and  violent  struggle.  The  horse  fell  prone  upon  the 
road,  and  while'  he  was  trying  in  vain  to  rise,  I  was  con 
scious  that  my  companion  had  leaped  off.  Then  some 
thing  struck  me  from  behind,  and  I  felt  myself  propelled 
wildly  and  resistlessly  through  the  air,  down  among  the 
struggling  horses,  after  which  I  knew  no  more. 

When  consciousness  came  back  to  me  it  was  night, 
and  I  was  in  a  strange  house.  A  person  who  wakes  out 
of  healthy  sleep  recognizes  at  once  his  surroundings, 
and  by  a  process  in  which  volition  has  no  part  reunites 
the  thread  of  his  life  with  that  which  was  dropped  when 
sleep  fell  upon  him.  The  unconsciousness  which  follows 
concussion  is  of  a  different  sort,  and  obliterates  for  a 
time  the  memory  of  a  whole  life. 

I  woke  upon  a  little  cot  on  the  floor.  Though  it  was 
summer,  a  small  fire  had  been  kindled  on  the  hearth, 
my  father  was  chafing  my  hands,  my  brothers  and  sis 
ters  were  looking  on  at  a  distance  with  apprehension 
and  distress  upon  their  faces,  and  the  room  was  piled 
with  furniture  in  great  confusion.  The  whole  journey 
was  gone  from  my  memory  ;  and  feeling  that  I  could  not 
lift  my  head  or  speak,  I  could  only  gasp  and  shut  my 
eyes  and  wonder.  I  knew  my  father's  face,  and  knew 
the  family  faces  around  me,  but  I  had  no  idea  where  we 
were,  or  what  had  happened.  Something  warm  and 
stinging  came  to  my  lips,  and  I  swallowed  it  with  a  gulp 
and  a  strangle.  Then  I  became  conscious  of  a  voice 
that  was  strange  to  me.  It  was  deep  and  musical  and 
strong,  yet  there  was  a  restraint  and  a  conscious  modu 
lation  in  its  tone,  as  if  it  were  trying  to  do  that  to  which 
it  was  not  well  used.  Its  possessor  was  evidently  talk 
ing  to  my  mother,  who,  I  knew,  was  weeping. 

"Ah!  madam!  Ah!  madam!  This  will  never  do — 
never  do !"  I  heard  him  say.  "You  are  tired  Bless 


14  Artliur  Bonnicastle, 

me  !  You  have  come  eighty  miles.  It  would  have  killed 
Mrs.  Bradford.  All  you  want  is  rest.  I  am  not  a  chicken, 
and  such  a  ride  in  such  a  wagon  as  yours  would  have 
finished  me  up,  I'm  sure." 

"Ah,  my  poor  boy,  Mr.  Bradford!"  my  mother 
moaned. 

"  The  boy  will  be  all  right  by  to-morrow  morning," 
he  replied.  "  He  is  opening  his  eyes  now.  You  can't 
kill  such  a  little  piece  of  stuff  as  that.  He  hasn't  a 
broken  bone  in  his  body.  Let  him  have  the  brandy 
there,  and  keep  his  feet  warm.  Those  little  chaps  are 
never  good  for  anything  until  they  have  had  the  daylight 
knocked  out  of  them  half  a  dozen  times.  I  wonder  what 
has  become  of  that  rascal  Dennis  !  " 

At  this  he  rose  and  walked  to  the  window,  and  peered 
out  into  the  darkness.  I  saw  that  he  was  a  tall,  plainly 
dressed  man,  with  a  heavy  cane  in  his  hand.  One  thing 
was  certain  :  he  was  a  type  of  man  I  had  never  seen  be 
fore.  Perfectly  self-possessed,  entirely  at  home,  super 
intending  all  the  affairs  of  the  house,  commanding, 
advising,  reassuring,  inspiring,  he  was  evidently  there 
to  do  good.  In  my  speechless  helplessness,  my  own 
heart  went  out  to  him  in  perfect  trust.  I  had  the  fullest 
faith  in  what  he  said  about  myself  and  my  recovery, 
though  at  the  moment  I  had  no  idea  what  I  was  to  re 
cover  from,  or  rather,  what  had  been  the  cause  of  my 
prostration. 

"  There  the  vagabond  comes  at  last !  "  said  the  stran 
ger.  He  threw  open  the  door,  and  Dennis,  a  smiling, 
good-natured  looking  Irishman,  walked  in  with  a  ham 
per  of  most  appetizing  drinks  and  viands.  An  empty 
table  was  ready  to  receive  them,  and  hot  coffee,  milk, 
bread,  and  various  cold  meats  were  placed  one  after  an 
other  upon  it. 

"  Set  some  chairs,  Dennis,  and  be  quick  .bout  it,' 
said  Mr.  Bradford. 


Arthur  Bonnicastle.  15 

The  chairs  were  set,  and  then  Mr.  Bradford  stooped 
and  offered  my  mother  his  arm,  in  as  grand  a  manner 
as  if  he  were  proffering  a  courtesy  to  the  Queen  of  Eng 
land.  She  rose  and  took  it,  and  he  led  her  to  the  table. 
My  father  was  very  much  touched,  and  I  saw  him  look 
at  the  stranger  with  quivering  lips.  This  was  a  gentle 
man — a  kind  of  man  he  had  read  about  in  books,  but  not 
the  kind  of  man  he  had  ever  been  brought  much  in  con 
tact  with.  This  tender  and  stately  attention  to  my 
mother  was  an  honor  which  was  very  grateful  to  him.  It 
was  a  touch  of  ideal  life,  too — above  the  vulgar,  grace 
less  habits  of  those  among  whom  his  life  had  been  cast. 
Puritan  though  he  was,  and  plain  and  undemonstrative 
in  his  ways,  he  saw  the  beauty  of  this  new  manner  with 
a  thrill  that  brought  a  crimson  tint  to  his  hollow  cheeks. 
Both  he  and  my  mother  tried  to  express  their  thanks, 
but  Mr.  Bradford  declared  that  he  was  the  lucky  man  in 
the  whole  matter.  It  was  so  fortunate  that  he  had  hap 
pened  to  be  near  when  the  accident  occurred  ;  and 
though  the  service  he  had  rendered  was  a  very  small 
one,  it  had  been  a  genuine  pleasure  to  him  to  render  it. 
Then,  seeing  that  no  one  touched  the  food,  he  turned 
with  a  quick  instinct  to  Dennis,  and  said  :  "  By  the  way, 
Dennis,  let  me  see  you  at  the  door  a  moment." 

Dennis  followed  him  out,  and  then  my  father  bowed 
his  head,  and  thanked  the  Good  Giver  for  the  provision 
made  for  his  family,  for  the  safety  of  his  boy,  and  for 
the  prosperous  journey,  and  ended  by  asking  a  blessing 
upon  the  meal. 

When,  after  a  considerable  interval,  Mr.  Bradford  and 
his  servant  reappeared,  it  was  only  on  the  part  of  the 
former  to  say  that  Dennis  would  remain  to  assist  in 
putting  the  beds  into  such  shape  that  the  family  could 
have  a  comfortable  night's  rest,  and  to  promise  to  look 
in  late  in  the  morning.  He  shook  hands  in  a  hearty  way 
with  my  father  and  mother,  said  "Goodnight"  to  the 


1 5  Arthur  Bonnicastle. 

children,  and  then  came  and  looked  at  me.  He  smiled 
a  kind,  good-humored  smile,  and  shaking  his  long  finger 
at  me,  said  :  "  Keep  quiet,  my  little  man ;  you'll  be  all 
right  in  the  morning."  Then  he  went  away,  and  after 
the  closing  of  the  door  I  heard  his  brisk,  strong  tread 
away  into  the  darkness. 

I  have  often  wondered  whether  such  men  as  Mr.  Brad 
ford  realize  how  strong  an  impression  they  make  upon 
the  minds  of  children.  He  undoubtedly  realized  that  he 
had  to  deal  with  a  family  of  children,  beginning  with 
my  father  and  mother — as  truly  children  as  any  of  us  ; 
but  it  is  impossible  that  he  could  know  what  an  uplift  he 
gave  to  the  life  to  which  he  had  ministered.  The  senti 
ment  which  he  inspired  in  me  was  as  truly  that  of  wor 
ship  as  any  of  which  I  was  capable.  The  grand  man, 
with  his  stalwart  frame,  his  apparent  control  of  unlim 
ited  means,  his  self-possession,  his  commanding  man 
ner,  his  kindness  and  courtesy,  lifted  him  in  my  imagi 
nation  almost  to  the  dignity  of  a  God.  I  wondered  if  I 
could  ever  become  such  a  man  as  he  !  I  learned  in  after 
years  that  even  he  had  his  weaknesses,  but  I  never 
ceased  to  entertain  for  him  the  most  profound  respect. 
Indeed,  I  had  good  and  special  reason  for  this,  beyond 
what  at  present  appears. 

After  he  departed  I  watched  Dennis.  If  Mr.  Brad 
ford  was  my  first  gentleman,  Dennis  was  my  first  Irish 
man.  Oh,  sweet  first  time  !  let  me  exclaim  again.  I 
have  never  seen  an  Irishman  since  who  so  excited  my 
admiration  and  interest. 

"  Me  leddy,"  said  Dennis,  imitating  as  well  as  he 
could  the  grand  manner  of  his  master,  "  if  ye'll  tek  an 
Irish  b'y's  advice,  ye'll  contint  yoursilf  with  a  shake 
down  for  the  night,  and  set  up  the  frames  in  the  mar- 
nin'.  I'm  thinkin'  the  Squire  will  lit  me  give  ye  a  lift 
thin,  an'  it's  slape  ye're  wantin'  now." 

He  saw  the  broad  grin  coming  upon  the  faces  of  the 


Arthur  Bonnicastle.  17 

children  as  he  proceeded,  and  joined  in  their  unre 
strained  giggle  when  he  finished. 

"  Ah  !  there's  nothing  like  a  fine  Irish  lad  for  makin' 
little  gurr'ls  happy.  It's  better  nor  whiskey  any  day." 

My  poor  father  and  mother  were  much  distressed, 
fearing  that  the  proprieties  had  been  trampled  on  by  the 
laughing  children,  and  apologized  to  Dennis  for  their 
rudeness. 

"  Och  !  niver  mind  'em.  An  Irish  b'y  is  a  funny  bird 
d.v/  way,  and  they're  not  used  to  his  chirrup  yet." 

In  the  meantime  he  had  lighted  half  a  dozen  candles 
for  as  many  rooms,  and  was  making  quick  work  with  the 
bedding.  At  length,  with  the  help  of  my  mother,  he 
had  arranged  beds  enough  to  accommodate  the  family 
for  the  night,  and  with  many  professions  of  good-will, 
and  with  much  detail  of  experience  concerning  moving 
in  his  own  country,  he  was  about  to  bid  us  all  "  Good 
night,"  when  he  paused  at  the  door  and  said  :  "  Thank 
a  blind  horse  for  good  luck  !  " 

"  What  do  you  mean,  Dennis  ?  "    inquired  my  father. 

"  Is  it  what  I  mane  ?  ye  ask^me.  Wasn't  it  a  blind 
horse  that  fell  on  the  hill,  and  threw  the  lad  aff  jist 
where  the  Squire  was  standin',  and  didn't  he  get  him  in 
his  arms  the  furr'st  one,  and  wasn't  that  the  beginnin" 
of  it  all  ?  Thank  a  blind  horse  for  good  luck,  I  till  ye. 
The  Squire  can  no  more  drap  you  now  than  he  can  drap 
his  blissid  ould  hearr't,  though  it's  likely  I'll  have  to  do 
the  most  of  it  mesilf." 

My  mother  assured  Dennis  that  she  was  sorry  to  give 
him  the  slightest  trouble. 

"  Never  mind  me,  me  leddy.  Let  an  Irish  b'y  alone 
for  bein'  tinder  of  himsilf.  Do  I  look  as  if  I  had  too 
much  worr'k  and  my  bafe  comin'  to  me  in  thin  slices  ?  " 
And  he  spread  out  his  brawny  hands  for  inspection. 

The  children  giggled,  and  he  went  out  with  a  "  Good- 
irght."  Then  he  reopened  the  door,  and  putting  only  his 


1 8  Arthur  Bonnicastle. 

head  in,  said,  "  Remember  what  I  till  ye.  A  blind  horse 
for  good  luck  ;  "  and,  nodding  his  head  a  dozen  times,  he 
shut  the  door  again  and  disappeared  for  the  night. 

When  I  woke  the  next  morning,  it  all  came  back  to 
me — the  long  ride,  the  fearful  experience  upon  the  hill, 
and  the  observations  of  the  previous  evening.  We  were 
indebted  to  the  thoughtful  courtesy  of  Mr.  Bradford  for 
our  breakfast,  and,  after  Dennis  had  been  busy  during 
half  the  morning  in  assisting  to  put  the  house  in  order, 
I  saw  my  gentleman  again.  The  only  inconvenience 
from  which  I  suffered  was  a  sense  of  being  bruised  all 
over ;  and  when  he  came  in  I  greeted  him  with  such  a 
smile  of  hearty  delight  that  he  took  my  cheeks  in  his 
hands  and  kissed  me.  How  many  thousand  times  I 
had  longed  for  such  an  expression  of  affection  from  my 
father,  and  longed  in  vain  !  It  healed  me  and  made  me 
happy.  Then  I  had  an  opportunity  to  study  him  more 
closely.  He  was  fresh  from  his  toilet,  and  wore  the 
cleanest  linen.  His  neck  was  enveloped  and  his  chin 
propped  by  the  old-fashioned  "stock"  of  those  days, 
his  waistcoat  was  white,  and  his  dark  gray  coat  and 
trousers  had  evidently  passed  under  Dennis's  brush  in 
the  early  morning.  A  heavy  gold  chain  with  a  massive 
seal  depended  from  his  watch-pocket,  and  he  carried  in 
his  hand  what  seemed  to  be  his  constant  companion,  his 
heavy  cane.  At  this  distance  of  time  I  find  it  difficult  to 
describe  his  face,  because  it  impressed  me  as  a  whole, 
and  not  by  its  separate  features.  His  eyes  were  dark, 
pleasant,  and  piercing — so  much  I  remember  ;  but  the 
rest  of  his  face  I  cannot  describe.  I  trusted  it  wholly  ; 
but,  as  I  recall  the  man,  I  hear  more  than  I  see.  Im 
pressive  as  was  his  presence,  his  wonderful  voice  was 
his  finest  interpreter  to  me.  I  lingered  upon  his  tones 
and  cadences  as  I  have  often  listened  to  the  voice  of  a 
distant  waterfall,  lifted  and  lowered  by  the  wind.  I  cai; 
hear  it  to-day  as  plainly  as  I  heard  it 


Arthur  Bonnicastle,  19 

During  the  visit  of  that  morning  he  learned  the  situa 
tion  of  the  family,  and  comprehended  with  genuine  pain 
the  helplessness  of  my  father.  That  he  was  interested 
in  my  father  I  could  see  very  plainly.  His  talk  was  not 
in  the  manner  of  working-men,  and  the  conversation 
was  discursive  enough  to  display  his  intelligence.  The 
gentleman  was  evidently  puzzled.  Here  was  a  plain 
man  who  had  seen  no  society,  who  had  lived  for  years 
among  the  woods  and  hills  ;  yet  the  man  of  culture  could 
start  no  subject  without  meeting  an  intelligent  response. 

Mr.  Bradford  ascertained  that  my  father  had  but  little 
money,  that  he  had  come  to  Bradford  with  absolutely  no 
provision  but  a  house  to  move  into,  that  he  had  no  defi 
nite  plan  of  business,  and  that  his  desire  for  a  better 
future  for  his  children  was  the  motive  that  had  induced 
him  to  migrate  from  his  mountain  home. 

After  he  had  made  a  full  confession  of  his  circum 
stances,  with  the  confiding  simplicity  of  a  boy,  Mr. 
Bradford  looked  at  him  with  a  sort  of  mute  wonder,  and 
then  rose  and  walked  the  room. 

"  I  confess  I  don't  understand  it,  Mr.  Bonnicastle," 
said  he,  stopping  before  him,  and  bringing  down  his 
cane.  "You  want  your  children  to  be  educated  better 
than  you  are,  but  you  are  a  thousand  times  better  than 
your  circumstances.  Men  are  happiest  when  they  are 
in  harmony  with  their  circumstances.  I  venture  to  say 
that  the  men  you  left  behind  you  were  contented  enough. 
What  is  the  use  of  throwing  children  out  of  all  pleasant 
relations  with  their  condition  ?  I  don't  blame  you  for 
wanting  to  have  your  children  educated,  but  I  am  sure 
that  educating  working  people  is  a  mistake.  Work  is 
their  life  ;  and  they  worked  a  great  deal  better  and  were 
a  great  deal  happier  when  they  knew  less.  Now  isn't 
it  so,  Mr.  Bonnicastle  ?  isn't  it  so?  " 

Quite  unwittingly  Mr.  Bradford  had  touched  my  fa 
ther's  sensitive  point,  and  as  there  was  something  in 


2O  •  Arthur  Bonnicastle. 

the  gentleman's  manner  that  inspired  the  conversational 
faculties  of  all  with  whom  he  came  in  contact,  my  fa 
ther's  tongue  was  loosed,  and  it  did  not  stop  until  the 
gentleman  had  no  more  to  say. 

"Well,  if  we  differ,  we'll  agree  to  differ,"  said  he,  at 
last ;  "but  now  you  want  work,  and  I  will  speak  to  some 
of  my  friends  about  you.  Bonnicastle — Peter  Bonni- 
castle,  I  think  ?  " 

My  father  nodded,  and  said,  "  A  name  I  inherit  from 
I  do  not  know  how  many  great-grandfathers." 

"  Your  ancestor  was  not  Peter  Bonnicastle  of  Rox* 
bury  ?  " 

"  That  is  what  they  tell  me." 

"  Peter  Bonnicastle  of  Roxbury  !  " 

"  Ay,  Peter  Bonnicastle  of  Roxbury." 

"  By  Jove,  man  !  Do  you  know  you've  got  the  bluest 
blood  in  your  veins  of  any  man  in  Bradford  ?  " 

I  shall  never  forget  the  pleased  and  proud  expression 
that  came  into  the  faces  of  my  father  and  mother  as 
these  words  were  uttered.  What  blue  blood  was,  and 
in  what  its  excellence  consisted,  I  did  not  know  ;  but  it 
was  something  to  be  proud  of — that  was  evident. 

"  Peter  Bonnicastle  of  Roxbury  !  Ah  yes  !  Ah  yes  ! 
I  understand  it.  It's  all  plain  enough  now.  You  are  a 
gentleman  without  knowing  it — a  gentleman  trying  in 
a  blind  way  to  get  back  to  a  gentleman's  conditions. 
Well,  perhaps  you  will  ;  I  shall  not  wonder  if  you  do." 

It  was  my  first  observation  of  the  reverence  for  blood 
that  I  have  since  found  to  be  nearly  universal.  The 
show  of  contempt  for  it  which  many  vulgar  people  make 
is  always  an  affectation,  unless  they  are  very  vulgar  in 
deed.  My  father,  who,  more  than  any  man  I  ever 
knew,  respected  universal  humanity,  and  ignored  class 
distinctions,  was  as  much  delighted  and  elevated  with 
the  recognition  of  his  claims  to  good  family  blood  as  it 
he  had  fallen  heir  to  the  old  family  wealth. 


Arthur  Bonnicastle.  21 

"  And  what  is  this  lad's  name  ?  "  inquired  Mr.  Brad 
ford,  pointing  over  his  shoulder  toward  me. 

"  My  name  is  Arthur  Bonnicastle,"  I  replied,  taking 
the  words  out  of  my  father's  mouth. 

"  And  Arthur  Bonnicastle  has  a  pair  of  ears  and  a 
tongue,"  responded  Mr.  Bradford,  turning  to  me  with 
an  amused  expression  upon  his  face. 

I  took  the  response  as  a  reproof,  and  blushed  painfully. 

"  Tut,  tut,  there  is  no  harm  done,  my  lad,"  said  he, 
rising  and  coming  to  a  chair  near  me,  and  regarding  me 
very  kindly.  "  You  know  you  had  neither  last  night," 
he  added,  feeling  my  hand  and  forehead  to  learn  if  there 
were  any  feverish  reaction. 

I  was  half  sitting,  half  lying  on  a  lounge  near  the  win 
dow,  and  he  changed  his  seat  from  the  chair  to  the 
lounge  so  that  he  sat  over  me,  looking  down  into  my 
face.  "  Now,"  said  he,  regarding  me  very  tenderly,  and 
speaking  gently,  in  a  tone  that  was  wholly  his  own,  "  we 
will  have  a  little  talk  all  by  ourselves.  What  have  you 
been  thinking  about  ?  Your  mouth  has  been  screwed  up 
into  ever  so  many  interrogation  points  ever  since  your 
father  and  I  began  to  talk." 

I  laughed  at  the  odd  fancy,  and  told  him  I  should  like 
to  ask  him  a  few  questions. 

"  Of  course  you  would.  Boys  are  always  full  of  ques 
tions.  Ask  as  many  as  you  please." 

"  I  should  like  to  ask  you  if  you  own  this  town,"  I 
began. 

"  Why?" 

"  Because,"  I  answered,  "  you  have  the  same  name  the 
town  has." 

"  No,  my  lad,  I  own  very  little  of  it  ;  but  my  great 
grandfather  owned  all  the  land  it  stands  on,  and  the 
town  was  named  for  him,  or  rather  he  named  it  for  him 
self." 

"  Was  his  blood  blue  ?  "  I  inquired. 


22  Arthur  Bonnicastle. 

He  smiled  and  whistled  in  a  comical  way,  and  said  ha 
was  afraid  that  it  wasn't  quite  so  blue  as  it  might  have 
been. 

"  Is  yours  ?  " 

"  Well,  that's  a  tough  question,"  he  responded.  "  I 
fancy  the  family  blood  has  been  growing  blue  for  several 
generations,  and  perhaps  there's  a  little  indigo  in  me." 

"  Do  you  eat  anything  in  particular  ?  "   I  inquired. 

"  No,  nothing  in  particular  :  it  isn't  made  in  that  way." 

"  How  is  it  made  ?  "  I  inquired. 

"  That's  a  tough  question,  too,"  he  replied. 

"  Oh  !  if  you  can't  answer  it,"  I  said,  "  don't  trouble 
yourself ;  but  do  you  think  Jesus  Christ  had  blue  blood  ?  " 

"  Why  yes — yes  indeed.  Wasn't  he  the  son  of  David 
— when  he  got  back  to  him — and  wasn't  David  a  King?  " 

"  Oh  !  that's  what  you  mean  by  blue  blood — and  that's 
another  thing,"  I  said. 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  another  thing,  my  boy  ?  " 
inquired  Mr.  Bradford. 

"  I  was  thinking,"  I  said,  "  that  my  father  was  a  car 
penter,  and  so  was  his  ;  and  so  his  blood  was  blue  and 
mine  too.  And  there  are  lots  of  other  things  that  might 
have  been  true." 

"  Tell  me  all  about  them,"  said  my  interlocutor. 
"  What  have  you  been  thinking  about  ?  " 

"  Oh  !  "  I  said,  "  I've  been  thinking  that  if  my  father 
had  lived  when  his  father  lived,  and  if  they  had  lived  in 
the  same  country,  perhaps  they  would  have  worked  in 
the  same  shop  and  on  the  same  houses ;  and  then  per 
haps  Jesus  Christ  and  I  should  have  played  together 
with  the  blocks  and  shavings.  And  then,  when  he  grew 
up  and  became  so  wonderful,  I  should  have  grown  up 
and  perhaps  been  one  of  the  apostles,  and  written  part 
of  the  Bible,  and  preached  and  healed  the  sick,  and  been 
a  martyr,  and  gone  to  heaven,  and — and — I  don't  know 
how  many  other  things." 


Arthur  Bonnicastle.  23 

"  Well,  I  rather  think  you  would,  by  Jove,"  he  said, 
rising  to  his  feet,  impulsively. 

"  One  thing  more,  please,"  I  said,  stretching  my 
hands  up  to  him.  He  sat  down  again,  and  put  his  face 
close  to  mine.  "  I  want  to  tell  you  that  I  love  you." 

His  eyes  filled  with  tears  ;  and  he  whispered  :  "  Thank 
you,  my  dear  boy  :  love  me  always.  Thank  you." 

Then  he  kissed  me  again  and  turned  to  my  father.  "  I 
think  you  are  entirely  right  in  coming  to  Bradford,"  I 
heard  him  say.  "  I  don't  think  I  should  like  to  see  this 
little  chap  going  back  to  the  woods  again,  even  if  I  could 
have  my  own  way  about  it. 

For  some  minutes  he  walked  the  room  backward  and 
forward,  sometimes  pausing  and  looking  out  of  the  win 
dow.  My.  father  saw  that  he  was  absorbed,  and  said 
nothing.  At  length  he  stopped  suddenly  before  my 
father  and  said  :  "  This  is  the  strangest  affair  I  ever 
knew.  Here  you  come  out  of  the  woods  with  this  large 
family,  without  the  slightest  idea  what  you  are  going  to 
do — with  no  provision  for  the  future  whatever.  How 
did  you  suppose  you  were  going  to  get  along  ?  " 

How  well  I  remember  the  quiet,  confident  smile  with 
which  my  father  received  his  strong,  blunt  words,  and 
the  trembling  tone  in  which  he  replied  to  them ! 

"  Mr.  Bradford,"  said  he,  "  none  of  us  takes  care  of 
himself.  I  am  not  a  wise  man  in  worldly  things,  and  I 
am  obliged  to  trust  somebody  ;  and  I  know  of  no  one  so 
wise  as  He  who  knows  all  things,  or  so  kind  as  He  who 
loves  all  men.  I  do  the  best  I  can,  and  I  leave  the  rest 
to  Him.  He  has  never  failed  me  in  the  great  straits  of 
my  life,  and  He  never  will.  I  have  already  thanked  Him 
for  sending  you  to  me  yesterday  ;  and  I  believe  that  by 
His  direction  you  are  to  be,  as  you  have  already  been,  a 
great  blessing  to  me.  I  shall  seek  for  work,  and  with 
such  strength  as  I  have  I  shall  do  it,  and  do  it  well.  I 
shall  have  troubles  and  trials,  but  I  know  that  none  wilj 


24  Arthur  Bonnicastle. 

come  that  I  cannot  transform,  and  that  I  am  not  ex« 
pected  to  transform  into  a  blessing.  If  I  am  not  rich  in 
money  when  the  end  comes,  I  shall  be  rich  in  some 
thing  better  than  money." 

Mr.  Bradford  took  my  father's  hand,  and  shaking  it 
warmly,  responded  :  "  You  are  already  rich  in  that 
which  is  better  than  money.  A  faith  like  yours  is  wealth 
inestimable.  You  are  a  thousand  times  richer  than  I 
am  to-day.  I  beg  your  pardon,  Mr.  Bonnicastle,  but 
this  is  really  quite  new  to  me.  I  have  heard  cant  and 
snuffle,  and  I  know  the  difference.  Jf  the  Lord  doesn't 
take  care  of  such  a  man  as  you  are,  he  doesn't  stand  by 
his  friends,  that's  all." 

My  father's  reverence  was  offended  by  this  familiar 
way  of  speaking  a  name  which  was  ineffably  sacred  to 
him,  and  he  made  no  reply.  I  could  see,  too,  that  he 
felt  that  the  humility  with  which  he  had  spoken  was  not 
fully  appreciated  by  Mr.  Bradford. 

Suddenly  breaking  the  thread  of  the  conversation,  Mr. 
Bradford  said  :  "  By  the  way,  who  is  your  landlord?  I 
ought  to  know  who  owns  this  little  house,  but  I  don't." 

"  The  landlord  is  not  a  landlord  at  all,  I  believe.  The 
owner  is  a  landlady,  though  I  have  never  seen  her — a 
Mrs.  Sanderson — Ruth  Sanderson." 

"  Oh !  I  know  her  well,  and  ought  to  have  known  that 
this  is  her  property,"  said  Mr.  Bradford.  "  I  have  noth 
ing  against  the  lady,  though  she  is  a  little  odd  in  her 
ways  ;  but  I  am  sorry  you  have  a  woman  to  deal  with, 
for,  so  far  as  I  have  observed,  a  business  woman  is  a 
screw  by  rule,  and  a  woman  without  a  business  faculty 
and  with  business  to  do  is  a  screw  without  rule." 

In  the  midst  of  the  laugh  that  followed  Mr.  Bradford's 
axiomatic  statement  he  turned  to  the  window,  and  ex 
claimed  :  "  Well,  I  declare  !  here  she  comes." 

I  looked  quickly  and  saw  a  curious  turn-out  approach- 
nig  the  house.  It  was  an  old-fashioned  chaise,  set  low 


Arthur  Bonnicastle.  25 

between  two  high  wheels,  drawn  by  a  heavy-limbed  and 
heavy-gaited  black  horse,  and  driven  by  a  white-haired, 
thin-faced  old  man.  Beside  the  driver  sat  a  little  old 
woman ;  and  the  first  impression  given  me  by  the  pair 
was  that  the  vehicle  v/as  much  too  large  for  them,  for  it 
seemed  to  toss  them  up  and  catch  them,  and  to  knock 
them  together  by  its  constant  motion.  The  black  horse, 
who  had  a  steady,  independent  trot,  that  regarded  neither 
stones  nor  ruts,  made  directly  for  our  door,  stopped 
when  he  found  the  place  he  wanted,  and  then  gave  a 
preliminary  twitch  at  the  reins  and  reached  down  his 
head  for  a  nibble  at  the  grass.  The  man  sat  still,  look 
ing  straight  before  him,  and  left  the  little  old  woman  to 
alight  without  assistance ;  and  she  did  alight  in  a  way 
which  showed  that  she_  had  little  need  of  it.  She  was 
dressed  entirely  in  black,  with  the  exception  of  the  white 
wido'w's  cap  drawn  tightly  around  a  little  face  set  far 
back  in  a  deep  bonnet.  She  had  a  quick,  wiry,  nervous 
way  in  walking,  and  coming  up  the  path  that  led  through 
a  little  garden  lying  between  the  house  and  the  street, 
she  cast  furtive  glances  left  and  right,  as  if  gathering  the 
condition  of  her  property.  Then  followed  a  sharp  rap 
at  the  door. 

The  absorbed  and  embarrassed  condition  of  my  father 
and  mother  was  evident  in  the  fact  that  neither  started 
to  open  the  door  ;  but  Dennis,  coming  quickly  in  from 
an  adjoining  room  where  he  was  busy,  opened  it,  and 
Mr.  Bradford  went  forward  to  meet  her  in  the  narrow 
hall.  He  shook  her  hand  in  his  own  cordial  and  stately 
way,  and  said  jocularly  :  "  Well,  Madame,  you  see  we 
have  taken  possession  of  your  snug  little  house." 

Her  lips,  which  were  compressed  and  thin  as  if  she 
were  suffering  pain,  parted  in  a  faint  smile,  and  her 
dark,  searching  eyes  looked  up  to  him  in  a  kind  of  ques 
tioning  wonder.  There  was  nothing  in  her  face  that  at 
tracted  me.  I  remember  only  that  I  felt  moved  to  pity 


26  Arthur  Bonnicastie. 

her,  she  seemed  so  small,  and  lonely,  and  careworn 
Her  hands  were  the  tiniest  I  had  ever  seen,  and  were 
merely  little  bundles  of  bones  in  the  shape  of  hands. 

"  Let  me  present  your  tenants  to  you,  Mrs.  Sander 
son,  and  commend  them  to  your  good  opinion,"  said 
Mr.  Bradford. 

She  stood  quietly  and  bowed  to  my  father  and  mother, 
who  had  risen  to  greet  her.  I  was  young,  but  quick  in 
my  instincts,  and  1  saw  at  once  that  she  regarded  a  ten 
ant  as  an  inferior,  with  whom  it  would  not  do  to  be  on 
terms  of  social  familiarity. 

"  Do  you  find  the  house  comfortable  ?  "  she  inquired, 
speaking  in  a  quick  way  and  addressing  my  father. 

"  Apparently  so,"  he  answered  ;  and  then  he  added  : 
"  we  are  hardly  settled  yet,  but  I  think  we  shall  get 
along  very  well  in  it." 

•'  With  your  leave  I  will  go  over  it,  and  see  for  my 
self,"  she  said  quietly. 

"Oh,  certainly!"  responded  my  father.  "My  wife 
will  go  with  you." 

"  If  she  will ;  but  I  want  you,  too." 

They  went  ofif  together,  and  I  heard  them  for  some 
minutes  talking  around  in  the  different  parts  of  the  house. 

"  Any  more  questions?  "  inquired  Mr.  Bradford  with 
a.  smile,  looking  over  to  where  I  sat  on  the  lounge. 

"  Yes,  sir,"  I  replied.  "  I  have  been  wondering 
whether  that  lady  has  a  crack  in  the  top  of  her  head." 

"  Well,  I  shouldn't  wonder  if  she  had  a  very,  very 
small  one,"  he  replied;  "and  now  what  started  that 
fancy  ?  " 

"  Because,"  I  continued,  "  if  she  is  what  you  call  a 
screw,  I  was  wondering  how  they  turned  her." 

"  Well,  my  boy,  it  is  so  very  small  indeed,"  said  Mr. 
Bradford,  putting  on  a  quizzical  look,  "  that  I'm  afraid 
they  can't  turn  her  at  all." 

When  the  lady  came  back  she  seemed  to  be  ready  ta 


ArtJiur  Bonnicastle.  27 

go  away  at  once  ;  but  Mr.  Bradford  detained  her  with 
the  story  of  the  previous  night's  experiences,  including 
the  accident  that  had  happened  to  me.  She  listened 
sharply,  and  then  came  over  to  where  I  was  sitting,  and 
asked  me  if  I  were  badly  hurt.  I  assured  her  I  was  not. 
Then  she  took  one  of  my  plump  hands  in  her  own  little 
grasp,  and  looked  at  me  in  a  strange,  intense  way  with 
out  saying  a  word. 

Mr.  Bradford  interrupted  her,  with  an  eye  to  business, 
by  saying  :  "  Mr.  Bonnicastle,  your  new  tenant  here,  is 
a  carpenter  ;  and  I  venture  to  say  that  he  is  a  good  one. 
We  must  do  what  we  can  to  introduce  him  to  business." 

She  turned  with  a  quick  motion  on  her  heel,  and  bent 
her  eyes  on  my  father.  "  Bonnicastle  ?  "  said  she,  with 
almost  a  fierce  interrogation. 

"  Oh  !  I  supposed  you  knew  his  name,  Mrs.  Sander 
son,"  said  Mr.  Bradford  ;  and  then  he  added,  "  but  I 
presume  your  agent  did  not  tell  you." 

She  made  no  sign  to  show  that  she  had  heard  a  word 
that  Mr.  Bradford  had  said. 

"  Peter  Bonnicastle,"  said  my  father,  breaking  the  si 
lence  with  the  only  words  he  could  find. 

"  Peter  Bonnicastle  !  "  she  repeated  almost  mechani 
cally,  and  continued  standing  as  if  dazed. 

She  stood  with  her  back  toward  me,  and  I  could  only 
guess  at  her  expression,  or  the  strangely  curious  interest 
of  the  scene,  by  its  reflection  in  Mr.  Bradford's  face. 
He  sat  uneasily  in  his  chair,  and  pressed  the  head  of  his 
cane  against  his  chin,  as  if  he  were  using  a  mechanical 
appliance  to  keep  his  mouth  shut.  He  knew  the  woman 
before  him,  and  was  determined  to  be  wise.  Subse 
quently  I  learned  the  reason  of  it  all— of  his  silence  at 
the  time,  of  his  reticence  for  months  and  even  years 
afterward,  and  of  what  sometimes  seemed  to  me  and  to 
my  father  like  coolness  and  neglect. 

The  silence  was  oppressive,  and  my  father,  remem- 


28  Arthur  Bonnicastle. 

bering  the  importance  which  Mr.  Bradford  had  attached 
to  the  fact,  and  moved  by  a  newly  awakened  pride, 
said  :  "  I  am  one  of  many  Peters,  they  tell  me,  the  first 
of  whom  settled  in  Roxbury. 

"  Roxbury  ? "  and  she  took  one  or  two  steps  toward 
him.  "  You  are  sure  ?  " 

"  Perfectly  sure,"  responded  my  father. 

She  made  no  explanation,  but  started  for  the  door, 
dropping  a  little  bow  as  she  turned  away.  Mr.  Bradford 
was  on  his  feet  in  a  moment,  and,  opening  the  door  for 
her,  accompanied  her  into  the  street.  I  watched  them 
from  the  window.  They  paused  just  far  enough  from 
the  driver  of  the  chaise  to  be  beyond  his  hearing,  and 
conversed  for  several  minutes.  I  could  not  doubt  that 
Mr.  Bradford  was  giving  her  his  impression  of  us.  Then 
he  helped  her  into  the  chaise,  and  the  little  gray-haired 
driver,  gathering  up  his  reins,  and  giving  a  great  pull 
at  the  head  of  the  black  horse,  which  seemed  fastened 
to  a  particularly  strong  tuft  of  grass,  turned  up  the 
street  and  drove  off,  tossing  and  jolting  in  the  way  he 
came. 

There  was  a  strong,  serious,  excited  expression  on 
"Mr.  Bradford's  face  as  he  came  in.  "  My  friend,"  said  he, 
taking  my  father's  hand,  "this  is  a  curious  affair.  I 
cannot  explain  it  to  you,  and  the  probabilities  are  that 
I  shall  have  less  to  do  with  and  for  you  than  I  supposed 
I  might  have.  Be  sure,  however,  that  I  shall  always  be 
interested  in  your  prosperity,  and  never  hesitate  to  come 
to  me  if  you  are  in  serious  trouble.  And  now  let  me 
ask  you  never  to  mention  my  name  to  Mrs.  Sanderson, 
with  praise  ;  never  tell  her  if  I  render  you  a  service.  I 
know  the  lady,  and  I  think  it  quite  likely  that  you  will 
hear  from  her  in  a  few  days.  In  the  meantime  you  will 
be  busy  in  making  your  family  comfortable  in  your  new 
home."  Then  he  spoke  a  cheerful  word  to  my  mother, 
and  bade  us  all  a  good-morning,  only  looking  kindly  at 


ArtJiur  Bonnicastle.  29 

me  instead  of  bestowing  upon  me  the  coveted  and  ex 
pected  kiss. 

When  he  was  gone,  my  father  and  mother  looked  at 
each  other  with  a  significant  glance,  and  I  waited  to  hear 
what  they  would  say.  If  I  have  said  little  about  my 
mother,  it  is  because  she  had  very  little  to  say  for  her 
self.  She  was  a  weary,  worn  woman,  who  had  parted 
with  her  vitality  in  the  bearing  and  rearing  of  her  chil 
dren  and  in  hard  and  constant  care  and  work.  Life  had 
gone  wrong  with  her.  She  had  a  profound  respect  for 
practical  gifts,  and  her  husband  did  not  possess  them. 
She  had  long  since  ceased  to  hope  for  anything  good  in 
life,  and  her  face  had  taken  on  a  sad,  dejected  expres 
sion,  which  it  never  lost  under  any  circumstances.  To 
my  father's  abounding  hopefulness  she  always  opposed 
her  obstinate  hopelessness.  This  was  partly  a  matter 
of  temperament,  as  well  as  a  result  of  disappointment.  I 
learned  early  that  she  had  very  little  faith  in  me,  or 
rather  in  any  natural  gifts  of  mine  that  in  the  future 
might  retrieve  the  fortunes  of  the  family.  I  had  too 
many  of  the  characteristics  of  my  father. 

I  see  the  two  now  as  they  sat  thinking  and  talking  ovpr 
the  events  and  acquaintances  of  the  evening  and  the 
morning  as  plainly  as  I  saw  them  then — my  father  with 
his  blue  eyes  all  alight,  and  his  cheeks  touched  with 
the  flush  of  excitement,  and  my  mother  with  her  distrust 
ful  face,  depreciating  and  questioning  everything.  She 
liked  Mr.  Bradford.  Mr.  Bradford  was  a  gentleman ; 
but  what  had  gentlemen  to  do  with  them  ?  It  was  all 
very  well  to  talk  about  family,  but  what  was  family  good 
for  without  money  ?  Mr.  Bradford  had  his  own  affairs 
to  attend  to,  and  we  should  see  precious  little  more  of 
him  !  As  for  Mrs.  Sanderson,  she  did  not  like  her  at 
all.  Poor  people  would  get  very  little  consideration 
from  an  old  woman  whose  hand  was  too  good  to  be  given 
to  a  stranger  who  happened  to  be  her  tenant. 


3O  Arthur  Bonnicastle. 

I  have  wondered  often  how  my  father  maintained  hia 
courage  and  faith  with  such  a  drag  upon  them  as  my 
mother's  morbid  sadness  imposed,  but  in  truth  they 
were  proof  against  every  depressing  influence.  Out  of 
every  suggestion  of  possible  good  fortune  he  built  castles 
that  filled  his  imagination  with  almost  a  childish  delight. 
He  believed  that  something  good  was  soon  to  come  out 
or  it  all,  and  he  was  really  bright  and  warm  in  the  smile 
of  that  Providence  which  had  manifested  itself  to  him  in 
these  new  acquaintances.  I  pinned  my  faith  to  my  fa 
ther's  sleeve,  and  believed  as  fully  and  as  far  as  he  did. 
There  was  a  rare  sympathy  between  us.  The  great 
sweet  boy  that  he  was  and  the  little  boy  that  I  was,  were 
one  in  a  charming  communion.  Oh  God  !  that  he  should 
be  gone  and  I  here !  He  has  been  in  heaven  long 
enough  to  have  won  his  freedom,  and  I  am  sure  we  shall 
kiss  when  we  meet  again  ! 

Before  the  week  closed,  the  gray-haired  old  servant 
of  Mrs.  Sanderson  knocked  at  the  door,  and  brought  a 
little  n'Dte.  It  was  from  his  mistress,  and  read  thus,  for 
1  copy  from  the  faded  document  itself: — 

'•THE  MANSION,  BRADFORD. 

"MR.  PETER  BONNICASTLE: — 

"  I  should  like  to  see  you  here  next  Monday  morning,  in  regard 
to  some  repairs  about  The  Mansion.  Come  early,  and  if  your 
little  boy  Arthur  is  well  enough  you  may  bring  him. 

"  RUTH  SANDERSON." 

The  note  was  read  aloud,  and  it  conveyed  to  my  mind 
instantaneously  a  fact  which  I  did  not  mention,  but 
which  filled  me  with  strange  excitement  and  pleasure. 
I  remembered  that  my  name  was  not  once  mentioned 
while  Mrs.  Sanderson  was  in  the  house.  She  had  learned 
it  therefore  from  Mr.  Bradford,  while  talking  at  the  door. 
Mr.  Bradford  liked  me,  I  knew,  and  he  had  spokev 


Arthur  Bonnicastle.  31 

well  of  me  to  her.     What  would  come  of  it  all  ?     So, 
with  the  same  visionary  hopefulness  that  characterized 
my  father,  I   plunged  into  a  sea  of  dreams  on  which 
I   floated  over  depths  paved  with  treasure,  and  under 
skies  bright  with  promise  until  Monday  morning  dawned. 
When  the  early  breakfast  was  finished,  and  my  fathe 
with  unusual  fervor  of  feeling  had  commended  his  fam 
ily   and   himself  to    the   keeping   and   the   blessing   01 
heaven,  we  started  forth,  he  and  I,  hand-in-hand,  with 
as  cheerful  anticipations  as  if  we  were  going  to  a  feast- 


CHAPTER  II. 

I  VISIT  AN  OGRESS  AND  A  GIANT  IN  THEIR   ENCHANTED 
CASTLE. 

"  THE  MANSION"  of  Mrs.  Sanderson  was  a  long  half- 
mile  away  from  us,  situated  upon  the  hill  that  over 
looked  the  little  city.  It  appeared  grand  in  the  dis 
tance,  and  commanded  the  most  charming  view  of  town, 
meadow  and  river  imaginable.  We  passed  Mr.  Brad 
ford's  house  on  the  way — a  plain,  rich,  unpretending 
dwelling — and  received  from  him  a  hearty  good-morn 
ing,  with  kind  inquiries  for  my  mother,  as  he  stood  in 
his  open  doorway,  enjoying  the  fresh  morning  air.  At 
the  window  sat  a  smiling  little  woman,  and,  by  her  side, 
looking  out  at  me,  stood  the  prettiest  little  girl  I  had 
ever  seen.  Her  raven-black  hair  was  freshly  curled, 
and  shone  like  her  raven -black  eyes  ;  and  both  helped 
to  make  the  simple  frock  in  which  she  was  dressed  seem 
marvellously  white.  I  have  pitied  my  poor  little  self 
many  times  in  thinking  how  far  removed  from  me  in 
condition  the  petted  child  seemed  that  morning,  and 
how  unworthy  I  felt,  in  my  homely  clothes,  to  touch  her 


32  Arthur  Bonnicastle. 

dainty  hand,  or  even  to  speak  to  her.  I  was  fascinated 
by  the  vision,  but  glad  to  get  out  of  her  sight. 

On  arriving  at  The  Mansion,  my  father  and  I  walked 
to  the  great  front-door.  There  were  sleeping  lions  nt 
the  side  and  there  was  a  rampant  lion  on  the  knocker 
which  my  father  was  about  to  attack  when  the  door 
swung  noiselessly  upon  its  hinges,  and  we  were  met 
upon  the  threshold  by  the  mistress  herself.  She  looked 
smaller  than  ever,  shorn  of  her  street  costume  and  her 
bonnet ;  and  her  lips  were  so  thin  and  her  face  seemed 
so  full  of  pain  that  I  wondered  whether  it  were  her  head 
-or  her  teeth  that  ached. 

"The  repairs  that  I  wish  to  talk  about  are  at  the 
rear  of  the  house,"  she  said,  blocking  the  way,  and  with 
a  nod  directing  my  father  to  that  locality.  There  was 
no  show  of  courtesy  in  her  words  or  manner.  My  father 
turned  away,  responding  to  her  bidding,  and  still  main 
taining  his  hold  upon  my  hand. 

"  Arthur,"  said  she,  "  come  in  here." 

I  looked  up  questioningly  into  my  father's  face,  and 
saw  that  it  was  clouded.  He  relinquished  my  hand,  and 
said  :  "Go  with  the  lady." 

She  took  me  into  a  little  library,  and,  pointing  me  to 
a  chair,  said  :  "  Sit  there  until  I  come  back.  Don't  stir, 
or  touch  anything." 

I  felt,  when  she  left  me,  as  if  there  were  enough  of 
force  in  her  command  to  paralyze  me  for  a  thousand 
years.  I  hardly  dared  to  breathe.  Still  my  young  eyes 
were  active,  and  were  quickly  engaged  in  taking  a.<_  in 
ventory  of  the  apartment,  and  of  such  rooms  as  I  could 
look  into  through  the  open  doors.  I  was  conscious  at 
once  that  I  was  looking  upon  nothing  that  was  new. 
Everything  was  faded  and  dark  and  old,  except  those 
things  that  care  could  keep  bright.  The  large  brass 
andirons  in  the  fireplace,  and  the  silver  candlesticks  on 
the  mantel-tree  were  as  brilliant  as  when  they  were  ixv 


Arthur  Bonnicastle.  33 

So  perfect  was  the  order  of  the  apartment — so  evidently 
had  every  article  of  furniture  and  every  little  ornament 
been  adjusted  to  its  place  and  its  relations — that,  after 
the  first  ten  minutes  of  my  observation,  I  could  have  de 
tected  any  change  as  quickly  as  Mrs.  Sanderson  herself. 

Through  a  considerable  passage,  with  an  open  doot 
at  either  end,  I  saw  on  the  wall  of  the  long  dining  room 
a  painted  portrait  of  a  lad,  older  than  I  and  very  hand 
some.  I  longed  to  go  nearer  to  it,  but  the  prohibition 
withheld  me.  In  truth,  I  forgot  all  else  about  me  in  my 
curiosity  concerning  it — forgot  even  where  I  was — yet  I 
failed  at  last  to  carry  away  any  impression  of  it  that  my 
memory  could  recall  at  will. 

It  may  have  been  half  an  hour — it  may  have  been  an 
hour— that  Mrs.  Sanderson  was  out  of  the  room,  engaged 
with  my  father.  It  seemed  a  long  time  that  I  had  been 
left  when  she  returned. 

"  Have  you  moved,  or  touched  anything  ? "  she  in 
quired. 

"  No,  ma'am." 

"Are  you  tired  ?  " 

"  Yes,  ma'am." 

"  What  would  you  like  to  do  ?  " 

"  1  should  like  to  go  nearer  to  the  picture  of  the  beau 
tiful  little  boy  in  that  room,"  I  answered,  pointing  to  it. 

She  crossed  the  room  at  once  and  closed  the  door. 
Then  she  came  back  to  me  and  said  with  a  voice  that 
trembled  :  "  You  must  not  see  that  picture,  and  you 
must  never  ask  me  anything  about  it." 

"  Then,"  I  said,  "  I  should  like  to  go  out  where  my 
father  is  at  work." 

"  Your  father  is  busy.  He  is  at  work  for  me,  and  I  do 
not  wish  to  have  him  disturbed,"  she  responded. 

"  Then  I  should  like  a  book,"  I  said. 

She  went  to  a  little  case  of  shelves  on  the  opposite  side 
of  the  room,  and  took  down  one  book  after  another,  and 


34  Arthur  Bonnicastle. 

looked,  not  at  the  contents,  but  at  the  fly-leaf  of  each, 
where  the  name  of  the  owner  is  usually  inscribed.  At 
last  she  found  one  that  apparently  suited  her,  and  came 
and  sat  down  by  me,  holding  it  in  her  lap.  She  looked 
at  me  curiously,  and  then  said  :  "  What  do  you  expect 
to  make  of  yourself,  boy  ?  What  do  you  expect  to  be  ?  " 

"  A  man,"  I  answered. 

"  Do  you  ?     That  is  a  great  deal  to  expect." 

"  Is  it  harder  to  be  a  man  than  it  is  to  be  a  woman  ? " 
I  inquired. 

"  Yes." 

"Why?" 

"  Because  it  is,"  she  replied  almost  snappishly. 

"  A  woman  isn't  so  large,"  I  responded,  as  if  that 
statement  might  contain  a  helpful  suggestion. 

She  srniled  faintly,  and  then  her  face  grew  stern  and 
sad  ;  and  she  seemed  to  look  at  something  far  off.  At 
length  she  turned  to  me  and  said  :  "  You  are  sure  you 
will  never  be  a  drunkard  ?  " 

"  Never,"  I  replied. 

"  Nor  a  gambler  ?  " 

"  T  don't  know  what  a  gambler  is." 

"  Do  you  think  you  could  ever  become  a  disobedient, 
ungrateful  wretch,  child-  ?  "  she  continued. 

I  do  not  know  where  my  responding  words  or  my  im 
pulse  to  utter  them  came  from  :  probably  from  some  ro 
mantic  passage  that  I  had  read,  coupled  with  the  con 
versations  I  had  recently  heard  in  my  home  ;  but  I  rose 
upon  my  feet,  and  with  real  feeling,  though  with  abun 
dant  mock-heroism  in  the  seeming,  I  said  :  "  Madame, 
I  am  a  Bonnicastle  ! " 

She  did  not  smile,  as  I  do,  recalling  the  incident,  but 
she  patted  me  on  the  head  with  the  first  show  of  affec 
tionate  regard.  She  let  her  hand  rest  there  while  her 
eyes  looked  far  off  again  ;  and  I  knew  she  was  thinking 
of  things  with  which  I  could  have  no  part. 


Arthur  Bonnicastle.  35 

''  Do  you  think  you  could  love  me,  Arthur  ?  "  she  said, 
looking  me  in  the  eyes. 

"  I  don't  know,"  I  replied,  "  but  I  think  I  could  love 
anybody  who  loved  me." 

"  That's  true,  that's  true,"  she  said  sadly  ;  and  then 
she  added  :  "  Would  you  like  to  live  here  with  me  ?  " 

"  I  don't  think  I  would,"  I  answered  frankly. 

"  Why?" 

"  Because  it  is  so  still,  and  everything  is  so  nice,  and 
\iy  father  and  mother  would  not  be  here,  and  I  should 
nave  nobody  to  play  with,"  I  replied. 

"  But  you  would  have  a  large  room,  and  plenty  to  eat 
and  good  clothes  to  wear,"  she  said,  looking  down  upon 
my  humble  garments. 

"  Should  I  have  this  house  when  you  get  through  with 
it  ?  "  I  inquired. 

"  Then  you  would  like  it  without  me  in  it,  would  you  ?  " 
she  said,  with  a  smile  which  she  could  not  repress. 

"  I  should  think  it  would  be  a  very  good  house  for  a 
man  to  live  in,"  I  replied,  evading  her  question. 

"  But  you  would  be  alone." 

"  Oh  no !  "  I  said.  "  I  should  have  a  wife  and  chil 
dren." 

"  Humph!"  she  exclaimed,  giving  her  head  a  little 
toss  and  mine  a  little  rap  as  she  removed  her  hand, 
"  you  will  be  a  man,  I  guess,  fast  enough ! " 

She  sat  a  moment  in  silence,  looking  at  me,  and  then 
she  handed  me  the  book  she  held,  and  went  out  of  the 
room  again  to  see  my  father  at  his  work.  It  was  a  book 
full  of  rude  pictures  and  uninteresting  text,  and  its  at 
tractions  had  long  been  exhausted  when  she  returned, 
flushed  and  nervous.  I  learned  afterward  that  she  had 
had  a  long  argument  with  my  father  about  the  proper 
way  of  executing  the  job  she  had  given  him. 

My  father  had  presumed  upon  his  knowledge  of  his 
craft  to  suggest  that  her  way  of  doing  the  work  was  not 


36  Arthur  Bonnicastle. 

the  right  way  ;  and  she  had  insisted  that  the  work  must 
be  done  in  her  way  or  not  done  at  all.  Those  who 
worked  for  her  were  to  obey  her  will.  She  assumed  all 
knowledge  of  everything  relating  to  herself  and  her  pos 
sessions,  and  permitted  neither  argument  nor  opposi- 
,-tion  ;  and  when  my  father  convinced  her  reason  that, she 
had  erred,  she  was  only  fixed  thereby  in  her  error.  I 
knew  that  something  had  gone  wrong  and  I  longed  to 
see  my  father,  but  I  did  not  dare  to  say  anything  about 
it. 

How  the  morning  wore  away  I  do  not  remember. 
She  led  me  in  a  dreary  ramble  through  the  rooms  of  the 
large  old  house,  and  we  had  a  good  deal  of  idle  talk  that 
led  to  nothing.  She  chilled  and  repressed  me.  1  felt 
that  I  was  not  myself— that  her  will  overshadowed  me. 
She  called  nothing  out  of  me  that  interested  her.  1  re 
member  thinking  how  different  she  was  from  Mr.  Brad 
ford,  whose  presence  made  me  feel  that  I  was  in  a  large 
place,  and  stirred  me  to  think  and  talk. 

At  noon  the  dinner-bell  rang,  and  she  bade  me  go 
with  her  to  the  dining-room.  I  told  her  my  father  had 
brought  dinner  for  me,  and  I  would  like  to  eat  with  him. 
I  longed  to  get  out  of  her  presence,  but  she  insisted  that 
I  must  eat  with  her,  and  there  was  no  escape.  As  we 
entered  the  dining-room,  I  looked  at  once  for  my  pic 
ture,  but  it  was  gone.  In  its  place  was  a  square  area  of 
unfaded  wall,  where  it  had  hung  for  many  years.  I 
knew  it  had  been  removed  because  I  wished  to  see  it 
and  was  curious  in  regard  to  it.  The  spot  where  it 
hung  had  a  fascination  for  me,  and  many  times  my  eyes 
went  up  to  it,  as  if  that  which  had  so  strangely  vanished 
might  as  strangely  reappear. 

"  Keep  your  eyes  at  home,"  said  my  snappish  little 
hostess,  who  had  placed  me,  not  at  her  side,  but  vis-a 
vis;  so  afterward,  when  they  were  not  glued  to  my 
plate,  or  were  not  watching  the  movements  of  'he  ok' 


Arthur  Bonnicastle.  37 

man-servant  whom  I  had  previously  seen  driving  his 
Distress's  chaise,  they  were  iixed  on  her. 

I  could  not  but  feel  that  "  Jenks,"  as  she  called  him, 
disliked  me.  I  was  an  intruder,  and  had  no  right  to  be 
at  Madame's  table.  When  he  handed  me  anything  at 
the  lady's  bidding,  he  bent  down  toward  me,  and  ut 
tered  something  between  growling  and  muttering.  I 
had  no  doubt  then  that  he  would  have  torn  me  limb 
from  limb  if  he  could.  I  found  afterward  that  growling 
and  muttering  were  the  habit  of  his  life.  In  the  stable 
he  growled  and  muttered  at  the  horse.  In  the  garden, 
he  growled  and  muttered  at  the  weeds.  Blacking  his 
mistress's  shoes,  he  growled  and  muttered,  and  turned 
them  over  and  over,  as  if  he  were  determining  whether 
to  begin  to  eat  them  at  the  toe  or  the  heel.  If  he  sharp 
ened  the  lady's  carving-knife,  he  growled  as  if  he  were 
sharpening  his  own  teeth.  I  suppose  she  had  become 
used  to  it,  and  did  not  notice  it ;  but  he  impressed  me 
:U  first  as  a  savage  monster. 

I  was  conscious  during  the  dinner,  to  which,  notwith 
standing  all  the  disturbing  and  depressing  influences,  I 
did  full  justice,  that  I  was  closely  observed  by  my  host 
ess  :  for  she  freely  undertook  to  criticise  my  habits,  and 
to  lay  down  rules  for  my  conduct  at  the  table.  After 
every  remark,  Jenks  growled  and  muttered  a  hoarse  re 
sponse. 

Toward  the  close  of  the  meal  there  was  a  long  silence, 
and  I  became  very  much  absorbed  in  my  thoughts  and 
fancies.  My  hostess  observed  that  something  new  had 
entered  my  mind  —  for  her  apprehensions  were  very 
quick — and  said  abruptly  :  "  Boy,  what  are  you  think 
ing  about  ?  " 

I  blushed  and  replied  that  I  would  rather  not  tell. 

"  Tell  me  at  once,"  she  commanded. 

I  obeyed  with  great  reluctance,  but  her  expectant  eye 
was  upon  me,  and  there  was  no  escape. 


38  Arthur  Bonnicastle. 

'•  I  was  thinking,"  I  said,  "  that  I  was  confined  in  an 
enchanted  castle  where  a  little  ogress  lived  with  a  gray- 
headed  giant.  One  day  she  invited  me  to  dinner,  and 
she  spoke  very  cross  to  me,  and  the  gray-headed  giant 
growled  always  when  he  came  near  me,  as  if  he  wanted 
to  eat  me  ;  but  I  couldn't  stir  from  my  seat  to  get  away 
from  him.  Then  I  heard  a  voice  outside  of  the  castle 
walls  that  sounded  like  my  father's,  only  it  was  a  great 
way  off,  and  it  said  : 

1  Come,  little  boy,  to  me, 
On  the  back  of  a  bumble-bee.' 

Then  I  tried  to  get  out  of  my  chair,  but  I  couldn't.  So 
I  clapped  my  hands  three  times,  and  said  :  '  Castle,  cas 
tle,  Bonnicastle  ! '  and  the  little  ogress  flew  out  of  the 
window  on  a  broomstick,  and  I  jumped  up  and  seized 
the  carving-knife  and  slew  the  gray-headed  giant,  and 
pitched  him  down  cellar  with  the  fork.  Then  the  doors 
flew  open,  and  I  went  out  to  see  my  father,  and  he  took 
me  home  in  a  gold  chaise  with  a  black  horse  as  big  as 
an  elephant. 

I  could  not  tell  whether  amazement  or  amusement  pre 
vailed  in  the  expression  of  the  face  of  my  little  hostess, 
as  I  proceeded  with  the  revelation  of  my  fancies.  I 
think  her  first  impression  was  that  I  was  insane,  or  that 
my  recent  fall  had  in  some  way  injured  my  brain,  or 
possibly  that  fever  was  coming  on,  for  she  said,  with  real 
concern  in  her  voice  :  "  Child,  are  you  sure  you  are 
quite  well  ? " 

"  Very  well,  I  thank  you,  ma'am,"  I  replied,  after  the 
formula  in  which  I  had  been  patiently  instructed. 

Jenks  growled  and  muttered,  but  as  I  looked  into  his 
face  I  was  sure  I  caught  the  slightest  twinkle  in  his  little 
gray  eyes.  At  any  rate,  I  lost  all  fear  of  him  from  that 
moment. 

"  Jenks,"  said  the  lady,  "  take  this  boy  to  his  father, 


ArtJiur  Bowiicastlc,  39 

and  tell  him  I  think  he  had  better  send  him  home.  If  it 
is  necessary,  you  can  go  with  him." 

As  I  rose  from  the  table,  I  remembered  the  directions 
my  mother  had  given  me  in  the  morning,  and  my  tongue 
being  relieved  from  its  spell  of  silence,  I  went  around  to 
Mrs.  Sanderson,  and  thanked  her  for  her  invitation,  and 
formally  gave  her  my  hand,  to  take  leave  of  her.  I  am 
sure  the  lady  was  surprised  not  only  by  the  courtesy, 
but  by  the  manner  in  which  it  was  rendered  ;  for  she 
detained  my  hand,  and  said,  in  a  voice  quite  low  and 
almost  tender  in  its  tone  :  "  You  do  not  think  me  a  real 
ogress,  do  you  ?  " 

"  Oh  no  !  "  I  replied,  "  I  think  you  are  a  good  wo 
man,  only  you  are  not  very  much  like  my  mother.  You 
don't  seem  used  to  little  boys  :  you  never  had  any,  per 
haps  ? " 

Jenks  overheard  me,  pausing  in  his  work  of  clearing 
the  table,  and  growled. 

"Jenks,  go  out,"  said  Mrs.  Sanderson,  and  he  retired 
to  the  kitchen,  muttering  as  he  went. 

As  I  uttered  my  question,  I  looked  involuntarily  at 
the  vacant  spot  upon  the  wall,  and  although  she  said 
nothing  as  I  turned  back  to  her,  I  saw  that  her  face  war, 
full  of  pain. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  I  said,  in  simplicity  and  ear 
nestness.  My  quick  sense  of  what  was  passing  in  her 
mind  evidently  touched  her,  for  she  put  her  arm  around, 
me,  and  drew  me  close  to  her  side.  I  had  uncon 
sciously  uncovered  an  old  fountain  of  bitterness,  and  as 
she  held  me,  she  said,  "  Would  you  like  to  kiss  an  old 
lady  ?  " 

I  laughed,  and  said,  "  Yes,  if  she  would  like  to  kiss  a 
boy." 

She  strained  me  to  her  breast.  I  knew  that  my  fresh, 
boyish  lips  were  sweet  to  hers,  and  I  knew  afterward 
that  they  were  the  first  she  had  pressed  for  a  quarter  of 


4<J  ArtJntr  Bonnicastle. 

a  century.  It  seemed  a  long  time  that  she  permitted 
her  head  to  rest  upon  my  shoulder,  for  it  quite  embar 
rassed  me.  She  released  me  at  length,  for  Jenks  began  to 
fumble  at  the  door,  to  announce  that  he  was  about  to  en 
ter.  Before  he  opened  it,  she  said  quickly  :  "  I  shall  see 
you  again ;  I  am  going  to  have  a  talk  with  your  father." 
During  the  closing  passages  of  our  interview,  my  feel 
ings  toward  Mrs.  Sanderson  had  undergone  a  most  un 
expected  change.  My  heart  was  full  of  pity  for  her,  and 
I  was  conscious  that,  for  some  reason  which  I  did  not 
know,  she  had  a  special  regard  for  me.  When  a  strong 
nature  grows  tender,  it  possesses  the  most  fascinating 
influence  in  the  world.  When  a  powerful  will  bends  to 
a  child,  and  undertakes  to  win  that  which  it  cannot  com 
mand,  there  are  very  few  natures  that  can  withstand  it. 
I  do  not  care  to  ask  how  much  of  art  there  may  have 
been  in  Mrs.  Sanderson's  caresses,  but  she  undoubtedly 
saw  that  there  was  nothing  to  be  made  of  me  without 
them.  Whether  she  felt  little  or  much,  she  was  deter 
mined  to  win  me  to  her  will ;  and  from  that  moment  to 
this,  I  have  felt  her  influence  upon  my  life.  She  had  a 
way  of  assuming  superiority  to  everybody — of  appearing 
to  be  wiser  than  everybody  else,  of  finding  everybody's 
weak  point,  and  exposing  it,  that  made  her  seem  to  be 
one  whose  word  was  always  to  be  taken,  and  whose  opin 
ion  was  always  to  have  precedence.  It  was  in  this  way, 
in  my  subsequent  intercourse  with  her,  that  she  exposed 
to  me  the  weaknesses  of  my  parents,  and  undermined 
••ny  confidence  in  my  friends,  and  showed  me  how  my 
loves  were  misplaced,  and  almost  absorbed  me  into  her 
self.  On  the  day  of  my  visit  to  her,  she  studied  me  very 
thoroughly,  and  learned  the  secret  of  managing  me.  I 
think  she  harmed  me,  and  that  but  for  the  corrective  in 
fluences  to  which  I  was  subsequently  exposed,  she  would 
well-nigh  have  ruined  me.  It  is  a  curse  to  any  child  to 
have  his  whole  personality  absorbed  by  a  foreign  will— 


Arthur  Bonnicastle.  41 

to  take  love,  law  and  life  from  one  who  renders  all  with 
design,  in  the  accomplishment  of  a  purpose.  She  could 
not  destroy  my  love  for  my  father  and  mother,  but  she 
made  me  half  ashamed  of  theni.  She  discovered  in  some 
way  my  admiration  of  Mr.  Bradford,  and  managed  in 
her  own  way  to  modify  it.  Thus  it  was  with  every  ac 
quaintance,  until,  at  last,  she  made  herself  to  me  the 
pivotal  point  on  which  the  world  around  her  turned. 

As  I  left  her,  Jenks  took  me  by  the  hand,  and  led  me 
out,  with  the  low  rumble  in  his  throat  and  the  mangled 
words  between  his  teeth  which  were  intended  to  indicate 
to  Mrs.  Sanderson  that  he  did  not  approve  of  boys  at  all. 
As  soon,  however,  as  the  door  was  placed  between  us 
and  the  lady,  the  rumble  in  his  throat  was  changed  to 
a  chuckle.  Jenks  was  not  given  to  words,  but  he  was 
helplessly  and  hopelessly  under  Mrs.  Sanderson's  thumb, 
and  all  his  growling  and  muttering  were  a  pretence.  He 
would  not  have  dared  to  utter  an  opinion  in  her  presence, 
or  express  a  wish.  He  had  comprehended  my  story  of 
the  ogress  and  the  giant,  and  as  it  bore  rather  harder 
upon  the  ogress  than  it  did  upon  the  giant,  he  was  in 
great  good-humor. 

He  squeezed  my  hand  and  shook  me  around  in  what 
he  intended  to  be  an  affectionate  and  approving  way, 
and  then  gave  me  a  large  russet  apple,  which  he  drew 
from  a  closet  in  the  carriage-house.  Not  until  he  had 
placed  several  walls  between  himself  and  his  mistress 
did  he  venture  to  speak. 

"  Well,  you've  said  it,  little  fellow,  that's  a  fact." 

"  Said  what  ? "  I  inquired. 

"  You:ve  called  the  old  woman  an  ogress,  he  !  he !  he! 
and  that's  just  what  she  is,  he  !  he  !  he  !  How  did  you 
dare  to  do  such  a  thing  ?  " 

"  She  made  me,"  I  answered.  "  I  did  not  wish  to 
tell  the  story." 

"  That's  what  she  always  does,"  said  Jenk^.     "She 


42  Arthur  Bonnicastlc. 

always  makes  people  do  what  they  don't  want  to  do 
Don't  you  ever  tell  her  what  I  say,  but  the  fact  is  I'rfi 
going  to  leave.  She'll  wake  up  some  morning  and  call 
Jenks,  and  Jenks  won't  come  !  Jenks  won't  be  here ! 
Jenks  will  be  far,  far  away  !  " 

His  last  phrase  was  intended  undoubtedly  to  act  upou 
my  boyish  imagination,  and  I  asked  him  with  some  con* 
cern  whither  he  would  go. 

«"  I  shall  plough  the  sea,"  said  Jenks.  "  You  will  find 
no  Jenks  here  and  no  russet  apple  when  you  come  again. 
I  shall  be  on  the  billow.  Now  mind  you  don't  tell  her" 
— tossing  a  nod  toward  the  house  over  his  left  shoul 
der — "  for  that  would  spoil  it  all." 

I  promised  him  that  I  would  hold  the  matter  a  pro 
found  secret,  although  I  was  conscious  that  I  was  not 
quite  loyal  to  my  new  friend  in  keeping  from  her  the  in 
telligence  that  her  servant  was  about  to  leave  The  Man 
sion  for  a  career  upon  the  ocean. 

"  Here's  your  boy,"  said  Jenks,  leading  me  at  last  to 
my  father.  "  Mrs.  Sanderson  thinks  you  had  better  send 
him  home,  and  says  I  can  go  with  him  if  he  cannot  find 
the  way  alone." 

"  I'm  very  much  obliged  to  Mrs.  Sanderson,"  said  my 
father  with  a  flush  on  his  face,  "  but  I  will  take  care  of 
my  boy  myself.  He  will  go  home  when  I  do." 

Jenks  chuckled  again.  He  was  delighted  with  any 
thing  that  crossed  the  will  of  his  mistress.  As  he  turneu 
away,  I  said  :  "  Good-by,  Mr.  Jenks.  I  hope  you  won  \ 
be  very  sea-sick." 

This  was  quite  too  much  for  the  little  old  man.  He 
had  made  a  small  boy  believe  that  he  was  going  away, 
and  that  he  was  going  to  sea  ;  and  he  returned  to  the 
house  so  much  delighted  with  himself  that  he  chuckled 
all  the  way,  and  even  kicked  at  a  stray  chicken  that  in 
tercepted  his  progress. 

Dui  ins  the  remainder  of  the  day  I  amused  myself  wilb 


Arthur  Bounicastle.  43 

watching  my  father  at  his  work.  I  was  anxious  to  tell 
him  of  all  that  had  happened  in  the  house,  but  he  bade 
me  wait  until  his  work  was  done.  I  had  been  accus 
tomed  to  watch  my  father's  face,  and  to  detect  upon  it 
the  expression  of  all  his  moods  and  feelings  ;  and  I 
knew  that  afternoon  that  he  was  passing  through  a  great 
trial.  Once  during  the  afternoon  Jenks  came  out  of  the 
house  with  another  apple ;  and  while  he  kept  one  eye  on 
the  windows  he  beckoned  to  me  and  I  went  to  him.  Pla 
cing  the  apple  in  my  hand,  he  said  :  "  Far,  far  away,  on 
the  billow  !  Good-by."  Not  expecting  to  meet  him  again, 
I  was  much  inclined  to  sadness,  but  as  he  did  not  seem 
to  be  very  much  depressed,  I  spared  my  sympathy,  and 
heartily  bade  him  "  Good  luck."  So  the  stupid  old  ser 
vant  had  had  his  practice  upon  the  boy,  and  was  happy 
in  the  lie  that  he  had  passed  upon  him. 

There  are  boys  who  seem  to  be  a  source  of  temptation 
to  every  man  and  woman  who  comes  in  contact  with 
them.  The  temptation  to  impress  them,  or  to  excite 
them  to  free  and  characteristic  expression,  seems  quite 
irresistible.  Everybody  tries  to  make  them  believe 
something,  or  to  make  them  say  something.  I  seemed 
to  be  one  of  them.  Everybody  tried  either  to  make  me 
talk  and  give  expression  to  my  fancies,  or  to  make  me 
believe  things  that  they  knew  to  be  false.  They  prac- 
tispd  upon  my  credulity,  my  sympathy,  and  my  imagi 
nation  for  amusement.  Even  my  parents  smiled  upon 
my  efforts  at  invention,  until  I  found  that  they  were 
more  interested  in  my  lies  than  in  my  truth.  The  con 
sequence  of  it  all  was  a  disposition  to  represent  every 
occurrence  of  my  life  in  false  colors.  The  simplest  in 
cident  became  an  interesting  adventure  ;  the  most  com 
monplace  act,  a  heroic  achievement.  With  a  conscience 
so  tender  that  the  smallest  theft  would  have  made  me 
utterly  wretched,'!  could  lie  by  the  hour  without  com 
punction.  My  father  and  mother  had  no  idea  of  the  in- 


44  Arthur  Bonnicastle. 

jury  they  were  doing  me,  and  whenever  they  realized,  a| 
they  sometimes  did,  that  they  could  not  depend  upon 
my  word,  they  were  sadly  puzzled. 

When  my  father  finished  his  work  for  the  day,  and 
with  my  hand  in  his  I  set  out  for  home,  it  may  readily  be 
imagined  that  I  had  a  good  deal  to  tell.  I  not  only  told 
of  all  that  I  had  seen,  but  I  represented  as  actual  all 
that  had  been  suggested.  Such  wonderful  rooms  and 
dismal  passages  and  marvellous  pictures  and  services  of 
silver  and  gold  and  expansive  mirrors  as  I  had  seen ! 
Such  viands  as  I  had  tasted — such  fruit  as  I  had  eaten  ! 
And  my  honest  father  received  all  the  marvels  with 
hardly  a  question,  and,  after  him,  my  mother  and  the 
children.  I  remember  few  of  the  particulars,  except 
that  the  picture  of  the  boy  came  and  went  upon  the  wall 
of  the  dining-room  as  if  by  magic,  and  that  Mrs.  San 
derson  wished  to  have  me  live  with  her  that  I  might  be 
come  her  heir.  The  last  statement  my  father  examined 
with  some  care.  Indeed,  I  was  obliged  to  tell  exactly 
what  was  said  on  the  subject,  and  he  learned  that,  while 
the  lady  wished  me  to  live  with  her,  the  matter  of  in 
heritance  had  not  been  suggested  by  anybody  but  my 
self. 


CHAPTER   III. 

I   GO  TO  THE   BIRD'S    NEST  TO   LIVE,    AND  THE  GIANT 
PERSISTS  IN   HIS   PLANS   FOR  A  SEA-VOYAGE. 

MY  father  worked  for  Mrs.  Sanderson  during  the  week, 
but  he  came  home  every  night  with  a  graver  face,  and, 
on  the  closing  evening  of  the  week,  it  all  came  out.  It 
was  impossible  for  him  to  cover  from  my  mother  and  his 
family  for  any  length  of  time  anything  which  gave  him 
either  satisfaction  or  sorrow. 


..-** 

Arthur  Bonmcastle.  45 

2  remember  how  he  walked  the  room  that  night,  and 
swung  his  arms,  and  in  an  excitement  that  was  full  of  in 
dignation  and  self-pity  declared  that  he  could  not  work 
for  Mrs.  Sanderson  another  week.  "  I  should  become 
an  absolute  idiot  if  I  were  to  work  for  her  a  month,"  I 
heard  him  say. 

And  then  my  mother  told  him  that  she  never  expected 
anything  good  from  Mrs.  Sanderson — that  it  had  turned 
out  very  much  as  she  anticipated — though  for  the  life  of 
her  she  could  not  imagine  what  difference  it  made  to  my 
father  whether  he  did  his  work  in  one  way  or  another, 
so  long  as  it  pleased  Mrs.  Sanderson,  and  he  got  his 
money  for  his  labor.  I  did  not  at  all  realize  what  an  ef 
fect  this  talk  would  have  upon  my  father  then,  but  now 
I  wonder  that  with  his  sensitive  spirit  he  did  not  upbraid 
my  mother,  or  die.  In  her  mind  it  was  only  another 
instance  of  my  father's  incompetency  for  business,  to 
which  incompetency  she  attributed  mainly  the  rigors  of 
her  lot. 

Mrs.  Sanderson  was  no  better  pleased  with  my  father 
than  he  was  with  her.  If  he  had  not  left  her  at  the  end 
of  his  first  week,  she  would  have  managed  to  dismiss 
him  as  soon  as  she  had  secured  her  will  concerning 
myself.  On  Monday  morning  I  was  despatched  to  The 
Mansion  with  a  note  from  my  father  which  informed 
Mrs.  Sanderson  that  she  was  at  liberty  to  suit  herself 
with  other  service. 

Mrs.  Sanderson  read  the  note,  put  her  lips  very  tight 
ly  together,  and  then  called  Jenks. 

"  Jenks,"  said  she,  "  put  *he  horse  before  the  chaise, 
change  your  clothes,  and  drive  to  the  door." 

Jenks  disappeared  to  execute  her  commands,  and, 
in  the  meantime,  Mrs.  Sanderson  busied  herself  with 
preparations.  First  she  brought  out  sundry  pots  of  jam 
and  jelly,  and  then  two  or  three  remnants  of  stuffs  that 
could  be  made  into  clothing  for  children,  and  a 


46  Arthur  Bonnicastle. 

of  apples.  When  the  chaise  arrived  at  the  door,  sh€ 
told  Jenks  to  tie  his  horse  and  bestow  the  articles  she 
had  provided  in  the  box.  When  this  task  was  com 
pleted  she  mounted  the  vehicle,  and  bade  me  get  in  at 
her  side.  Then  Jenks  took  his  seat,  and  at  Mrs.  San 
derson's  command  drove  directly  to  my  father's  house. 

When  we  arrived,  my  father  had  gone  out ;  and  after 
expressing  her  regret  that  she  could  not  see  him,  she  sat 
down  by  my  mother,  and  demonstrated  her  knowledge 
of  human  nature  by  winning  her  confidence  entirely. 
She  even  commiserated  her  on  the  impracticable  char 
acter  of  her  husband,  and  then  she  left  with  her  the 
wages  of  his  labor  and  the  gifts  she  had  brought.  My 
mother  declared  after  the  little  lady  went  away  that  she 
had  never  been  so  pleasantly  disappointed  as  she  had 
been  in  Mrs.  Sanderson!  She  was  just,  she  was  gener 
ous,  she  was  everything  that  was  sweet  and  kind  and 
good.  All  this  my  father  heard  when  he  arrived,  and  to 
it  all  he  made  no  reply.  He  was  too  kind  to  carry  anger, 
and  too  poor  to  spurn  a  freely  offered  gift,  that  brought 
comfort  to  those  whom  he  loved. 

Mrs.  Sanderson  was  a  woman  of  business,  and  at 
night  she  came  again.  I  knew  my  father  dreaded  meet 
ing  her,  as  he  always  dreaded  meeting  with  a  strong  and 
unreasonable  will.  He  had  a  way  of  avoiding  such  a 
will  whenever  it  was  possible,  and  of  sacrificing  every 
thing  unimportant  to  save  a  collision  with  it.  There 
was  an  insult  to  his  manhood  in  the  mere  existence  and 
exercise  of  such  a  will,  while  actual  subjection  to  it  was 
the  extreme  of  torture.  But  sometimes  the  exercise  of 
such  a  will  drove  him  into  a  corner  ;  and  when  it  did, 
the  shrinking,  peaceable  man  became  a  lion.  He  had 
seen  how  easily  my  mother  had  been  conquered,  and, 
although  Mrs.  Sanderson's  gifts  were  in  his  house,  he 
determined  that  whatever  might  be  her  business,  she 
should  be  dealt  with  frankly  and  firmly. 


Arthur  Bonnicastle.  47 

T  was  watching  at  the  window  when  the  little  lady 
alighted  at  the  gate.  As  she  walked  up  the  passage 
from  the  street,  Jenks  exchanged  some  signals  with  me. 
He  pointed  to  the  east  and  then  toward  the  sea,  with 
gestures,  which  meant  that  long  before  the  dawning  of 
the  morrow's  sun  Mrs.  Sanderson's  aged  servant  would 
cease  to  be  a  resident  of  Bradford,  and  would  be  tossing 
"  on  the  billow."  I  did  not  have  much  opportunity  to 
carry  on  this  kind  of  commerce  with  Jenks,  for  Mrs. 
Sanderson's  conversation  had  special  reference  to  my 
self. 

I  think  my  father  was  a  good  deal  surprised  to  find 
the  lady  agreeable  and  gracious.  She  alluded  to  his 
note  as  something  which  had  disappointed  her,  but,  as 
she  presumed  to  know  her  own  business  and  to  do  it  in 
her  own  way,  she  supposed  that  other  people  knew  their 
own  business  also,  and  she  was  quite  willing  to  accord 
to  them  such  privileges  as  she  claimed  for  herself.  She 
was  glad  there  was  work  enough  to  be  done  in  Bradford, 
and  she  did  not  doubt  that  my  father  would  get  employ 
ment.  Indeed,  as  he  was  a  stranger,  she  would  take  the 
liberty  of  commending  him  to  her  friends  as  a  good 
workman.  It  did  not  follow,  she  said,  that  because  he 
could  not  get  along  with  her  he  could  not  get  along 
with  others.  My  father  was  very  silent  and  permitted 
her  to  do  the  talking.  He  knew  that  she  had  come  with 
some  object  to  accomplish,  and  he  waited  for  its  revela 
tion. 

She  looked  at  me,  at  last,  and  called  me  to  her  side. 
She  put  her  arm  around  me,  and  said,  addressing  my 
father  :  "I  suppose  Arthur  told  you  what  a  pleasant 
day  we  had  together." 

"  Yes,  and  I  hope  he  thanked  you  for  your  kindness 
to  him,"  my  father  answered. 

"  Oh,  yes,  he  was  very  polite  and  wonderfully  .quiet 
for  a  boy,"  she  responded. 


48  Arthur  Bonnicastle. 

My  mother  volunteered  to  express  the  hope  that  I  ha» 
not  given  the  lady  any  trouble. 

*•'  I  never  permit  boys  to  trouble  me,"  was  the  curt  re 
sponse. 

There  was  something  in  this  that  angered  my  fathei 
—something  in  the  tone  adopted  toward  my  mother,  ancj 
something  that  seemed  so  cruel  in  the  utterance  itself. 
My  father  believed  in  the  rights  of  boys,  and  when  she 
said  this,  he  remarked  with  more  than  his  usual  inci- 
siveness  that  he  had  noticed  that  those  boys  who  had 
not  been  permitted  to  trouble  anybody  when  they  were 
young,  were  quite  in  the  habit,  when  they  ceased  to  be 
boys,  of  giving  a  great  deal  of  trouble.  He  did  not 
know  that  he  had  touched  Mrs.  Sanderson  at  a  very  ten 
der  point,  but  she  winced  painfully,  and  then  went  di 
rectly  to  business.  . 

"  Mr.  Bonnicastle,"  said  she,  "  I  am  living  alone,  as 
you  know.  It  is  not  necessary  to  tell  you  much  about 
myself,  but  I  am  alone,  and  with  none  to  care  for  but 
myself.  Although  I  am  somewhat  in  years.  I  come  of  a 
long-lived  race,  and  am  quite  well.  I  believe  it  is  ra 
tional  to  expect  to  live  for  a  considerable  time  yet,  and 
though  I  have  much  to  occupy  my  mind  it  would  be 
pleasant  to  me  to  help  somebody  along.  You  have  a 
large  family,  whose  fortunes  you  would  be  glad  to  ad 
vance,  and,  although  you  and  I  do  not  agree  very  well, 
I  hope  you  will  permit  me  to  assist  you  in  accomplishing 
your  wish." 

She  paused  to  see  how  the  proposition  was  received, 
and  was  apparently  satisfied  that  fortune  had  favored 
her,  though  my  father  said  nothing. 

"  I  want  this  boy,"  she  resumed,  drawing  me  more 
closely  to  her.  "  I  want  to  see  him  growing  up  and  be- 
com.'ng  a  man  under  my  provisions  for  his  support  and 
education.  It  is  not  possible  for  you  to  do  for  him  what 
I  can  do*.  It  will  interest  me  to  watch  him  from  year  to 


Arthur   Bonnicastle.  49 

year,  it  will  bring  a  little  young  blood  into  my  lonely  old 
house  occasionally,  and  in  one  way  and  another  it  will 
do  us  all  good." 

My  father  looked  very  serious.  He  loved  rr.e  as 
he  loved  his  life.  His  great  ambition  was  to  give  me 
the  education  which  circumstances  had  denied  to  him. 
Here  was  the  opportunity,  brought  to  his  door,  yet  he 
hesitated  to  accept  it.  After  thinking  for  a  moment,  he 
said  gravely  :  "  Mrs.  Sanderson,  God  has  placed  this 
boy  in  my  hands  to  train  for  Himself,  and  I  cannot  sur 
render  the  control  of  his  life  to  anybody.  Temporarily 
I  can  give  him  into  the  hands  of  teachers,  conditionally 
I  can  place  him  in  your  hands,  but  I  cannot  place  him 
m  any  hands  beyond  my  immediate  recall.  1  can  never 
surrender  my  right  to  his  love  and  his  obedience,  or 
count  him  an  alien  from  my  heart  and  home.  If,  un 
derstanding  my  feeling  in  this  matter,  you  find  it  in  youi 
heart  to  do  for  him  what  I  cannot,  why,  you  have  the 
means,  and  I  am  sure  God  will  bless  you  for  employing 
them  to  this  end." 

"  I  may  win  all  the  love  and  all  the  society  from  hu. 
I  can  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Sanderson,  interrogatively. 

"I  do  not  think  it  would  be  a  happy  or  a  healthy 
thing  for  the  child  to  spend  much  time  in  your  house, 
deprived  of  young  society,"  my  father  replied.  "  If  you 
should  do  for  him  what  you  suggest,  I  trust  that  the  boy 
and  that  all  of  us  would  make  such  expressions  of  our 
gratitude  as  would  be  most  agreeable  to  yourself ;  but  I 
must  choose  his  teachers,  and  my  home,  nowever  hum 
ble,  must  never  cease  to  be  regarded  by  him  as  his 
home.  I  must  say  this  at  the  risk  of  appearing  ungrate 
ful,  Mrs.  Sanderson." 

The  little  lady  had  the  great  good  sense  to  know  when 
she  had  met  with  an  answer,  and  the  adroitness  to  ap 
pear  satisfied  with  it.  She  was  one  of  those  rare  persons 
who,  seeing  a  rock  in  the  way,  recognize  it  at  once,  and, 

2 


50  Arthur  Bonnicastle. 

without  relinquishing  their  purpose  for  an  instant,  eithei 
seek  to  go  around  it  or  to  arrive  at  their  purpose  from 
some  other  direction.  She  had  concluded,  for  reasons 
of  her  own,  to  make  me  so  far  as  possible  her  posses 
sion.  She  had  had  already  a  sufficient  trial  of  her  power 
to  show  her  something  of  what  she  could  do  with  me, 
and  she  calculated  with  considerable  certainty  that  she 
could  manage  my  father  in  some  way. 

"  Very  well :  he  shall  not  come  to  me  now,  and  shall 
never  come  unless  I  can  make  my  home  pleasant  to 
him,"  she  said.  "  In  the  meantime,  you  will  satisfy 
yourself  in  regard  to  a  desirable  school  for  him,  and  we 
will  leave  all  other  questions  for  time 'to  determine." 

Neither  my  father  nor  my  mother  had  anything  to  op- 
pose.to  this,  and  my  patroness  saw  at  once  that  her  first 
point  was  gained.  Somehow  all  had  been  settled  with 
out  trouble.  Every  obstacle  had  been  taken  out  of  the 
way,  and  the  lady  seemed  more  than  satisfied. 

"  When  you  are  ready  to  talk  decisively  about  the 
boy,  you  will  come  to  my  house,  and  we  will  conclude 
matters,"  she  said,  as  she  rose  to  take  her  leave. 

I  noticed  that  she  did  not  recognize  the  existence  of 
my  little  brothers  and  older  sisters,  and  something  sub 
tler  than  reason  told  me  that  she  was  courteous  to  my 
father  and  mother  only  so  far  as  was  necessary  for  the 
accomplishment  of  her  purposes.  I  was  half  afraid  of 
her,  yet  I  could  not  help  admiring  her.  She  kissed  me 
at  parting,  but  she  made  no  demonstration  of  responsive 
courtesy  to  my  parents,  who  advanced  in  a  cordial  way 
io  show  their  sense  of  her  kindness. 

In  the  evening,  my  father  called  upon  Mr.  Bradford 
and  made  a  full  exposure  of  the  difficulty  he  had  had 
with  Mrs.  Sanderson,  and  the  propositions  she  had 
made  respecting  myself;  and  as  he  reported  his  con 
versation  and  conclusions  on  his  return  to  my  mother,  I 
vas  made  acquainted  with  them.  Mr.  Bradford  had 


Arthur  Bonnicastle.  51 

advised  that  the  lady's  offer  concerning  me  should  be 
accepted.  He  had  reasons  for  this  which  he  told  my 
father  he  did  not  feel  at  liberty  to  give,  but  there  were 
enough  that  lay  upon  the  surface  to  decide  the  matter. 
There  was  nothing  humiliating  in  it,  for  it  was  no  deed  of 
charity.  A  great  good  could  be  secured  for  me  by  grant 
ing  to  the  lady  what  she  regarded  in  her  own  heart  as  a 
favor.  She  never  had  been  greatly  given  to  deeds  of  be 
nevolence,  and  this  was  the  first  notable  act  in  her  his 
tory  that  looked  like  one.  He  advised,  however,  that  my 
father  hold  my  destiny  in  his  own  hands,  and  keep  me 
as  much  as  possible  away  from  Bradford,  never  permit 
ting  me  to  be  long  at  a  time  under  Mrs.  Sanderson's 
roof  and  immediate  personal  influence.  "  When  the 
youngster  gets  older,"  Mr.  Bradford  said,  "  he  will 
manage  all  this  matter  for  himself,  better  than  we  can 
manage  it  for  him." 

Then  Mr.  Bradford  told  him  about  a  famous  family 
school  in  a  country  village  some  thirty  miles  away, 
which,  from  the  name  of  the  teacher,  Mr.  Bird,  had 
been  named  by  the  pupils  "  The  Bird's  Nest."  Every 
body  in  the  region  knew  about  The  Biid's  Nest;  and 
multitudinous  were  the  stories  told  about  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Bird  ;  and  very  dear  to  all  the  boys,  many  of  whom  had 
grown  to  be  men,  were  the  house  and  the  pair  who  pre 
sided  over  it.  Mr.  Bradford  drew  a  picture  of  this 
school  which  quite  fascinated  my  father,  and  did  much 
— everything  indeed — to  reconcile  him  to  the  separation 
which  my  removal  thither  would  make  necessary.  I 
was  naturally  very  deeply  interested  in  all  that  related 
to  the  school,  and,  graceless  as  the  fact  may  seem,  T. 
should  have  been  ready  on  the  instant  to  part  with  ah 
that  made  my  home,  in  order  to  taste  the  new,  strange 
life  it  would  bring  me.  I  had  many  questions  to  ask 
but  quickly  arrived  at  the  end  of  my  father's  knowledge  . 
and  then  my  imagination  ran  wildly  on  until  the  images 


52  Arthur  Bonnicastle. 

of  The  Bird's  Nest  and  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Bird  and  Hills, 
borough,  the  village  that  made  a  tree  for  the  nest,  were 
as  distinctly  in  my  mind  as  if  I  had  known  them  all  my 
life. 

The  interview  which  Mrs.  Sanderson  had  asked  of  my 
father  was  granted  at  an  early  day,  and  the  lady  acceded 
without  a  word  to  the  proposition  to  send  me  to  The 
Bird's  Nest.  She  had  heard  only  good  reports  of  the 
school,  she  said,  and  was  apparently  delighted  with  my 
father's  decision.  Indeed,  I  suspect  she  was  quite  as 
anxious  to  get  me  away  from  my  father  and  my  home 
associations  as  he  was  to  keep  me  out  of  The  Mansion 
and  away  from  her.  She  was  left  to  make  her  own 
arrangements  for  my  outfit,  and  also  for  my  admission 
to  the  school,  though  my  father  stipulated  for  the  privi 
lege  of  accompanying  me  to  the  new  home. 

One  pleasant  morning,  some  weeks  afterward,  she 
sent  for  me  to  visit  her  at  The  Mansion.  She  was  very 
sweet  and  motherly  ;  and  when  I  returned  to  my  home 
I  went  clad  in  a  suit  of  garments  that  made  me  the 
subject  of  curiosity  and  envy  among  my  brothers  and 
mates,  and  with  the  news  that  in  one  week  I  must  be 
ready  to  go  to  Hillsborough.  During  all  that  week  my 
father  was  very  tender  toward  me,  as  toward  some  great 
treasure  set  apart  to  absence.  He  not  only  did  not  seek 
for  work,  but  declined  or  deferred  that  which  came.  It 
was  impossible  for  me  to  know  then  the  heart-hunger 
which  he  anticipated,  but  I  know  it  now.  I  do  not 
doubt  that,  in  his  usual  way,  he  wove  around  me  many 
a  romance,  and  reached  forward  into  all  the  possibili-  ' 
ties  of  my  lot.  He  was  always  as  visionary  as  a  child, 
though  I  do  not  know  that  he  was  more  childlike  in  this 
respect  than  in  others. 

My  mother  was  full  of  the  gloomiest  forebodings.  She 
felt  as  if  Hillsborough  would  prove  to  be  an  unhealthy 
place ;  she  did  not  doubt  that  there  was  something 


Arthur  Bonnicastle.  53 

wrong  about  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Bird,  if  only  we  could  know 
what  it  was  ;  and  for  her  part  there  was  something  in 
the  name  which  the  boys  had  given  the  school  that  was 
fearfully  suggestive  of  hunger.  She  should  always  think 
of  me,  she  said,  as  a  bird  with  its  mouth  open,  crying 
for  something  to  eat.  More  than  all,  she  presumed  that 
Mr.  Bird  permitted  his  boys  to  swim  without  care,  and 
she  would  not  be  surprised  to  learn  that  the  oldest  of 
them  carried  guns  and  pistols  and  took  the  little  boys 
with  them. 

Poor,  dear  mother  !  Most  fearful  and  unhappy  while 
living,  and  most  tenderly  mourned  and  revered  in  mem 
ory  !  why  did  you  persist  in  seeing  darkness  where  others 
saw  light,  and  in  making  every  cup  bitter  with  the  ap 
prehension  of  evil  ?  Why  were  you  forever  on  the  watch 
that  no  freak  of  untoward  fortune  should  catch  you  un 
aware  ?  Why  did  you  treat  the  Providence  you  de 
voutly  tried  to  trust  as  if  you  supposed  he  meant  to  trick 
you,  if  he  found  you  for  a  moment  off  your  guard  ?  Oh, 
the  twin  charms  of  hopefulness  and  trustfulness  !  What 
power  have  they  to  strengthen  weary  feet,  to  sweeten 
sleep,  to  make  the  earth  green  and  the  heavens  blue,  to 
cheat  misfortune  of  its  bitterness  and  to  quench  even 
the  poison  of  death  itself! 

It  was  arranged  that  my  father  should  take  me  to 
Hillsborough  in  Mrs.  Sanderson's  chaise — the  same  ve 
hicle  in  which  I  had  first  seen  the  lady  herself.  My 
little  trunk  was  to  be  attached  by  straps  to  the  axletree, 
and  so  ride  beneath  us.  Taking  leave  of  my  home  was 
a  serious  business,  notwithstanding  my  anticipations  01 
pleasure.  My  mother  said  that  it  was  not  at  all  likely 
we  should  ever  meet  again  ;  and  I  parted  with  her  at 
last  in  a  passion  of  tears.  The  children  were  weeping 
too,  from  sympathy  rather  than  from  any  special  or 
well-comprehended  sorrow,  and  I  heartily  wished  my 
self  away,  and  out  of  sight. 


54  Arthur  Bonnicastle. 

Jenks  brought  the  horse  to  us,  and,  after  he  had  as 
sisted  my  father  in  fastening  the  trunk,  took  me  apart 
from  the  group  that  had  gathered  around  the  chaise,  and 
said  in  a  confidential  way  that  he  made  an  attempt  on 
the  previous  night  to  leave.  He  had  got  as  far  as  the 
window  from  which  he  intended  to  let  himself  down,  but 
finding  it  dark  and  rather  cloudy  he  had  concluded  to 
defer  his  departure  until  a  lighter  and  clearer  night. 
"A  storm,  a  dark  storm,  is  awful  on  the  ocean,  you 
know,"  said  Jenks,  "  but  I  shall  go.  You  will  not  see 
me  here  when  you  come  again.  Don't  say  anything 
about  it,  but  the  old  woman  is  going  to  be  surprised, 
once  in  her  life.  She  will  call  Jenks,  and  Jenks  won't 
come.  He  will  be  far,  far  away  on  the  billow." 

"  Good-by,"  I  said  ;  "  I  hope  I'll  see  you  again  some 
where,  but  I  don't  think  you  ought  to  leave  Mrs.  Sander 
son." 

"Oh,  I  shall  leave,"  said  Jenks.  "The  world  is 
large  and  Mrs.  Sanderson  is — is — quite  small.  Let  her 
call  Jenks  once,  and  see  what  it  is  to  have  him  far,  far 
away.  Her  time  will  come."  And  he  shook  his  head, 
and  pressed  his  lips  together,  and  ground  the  gravel, 
under  his  feet,  as  if  nothing  less  than  an  earthquake 
could  shake  his  determination.  The  case  seemed  quite 
hopeless  to  me,  and  I  remember  that  the  unpleasant 
possibility  suggested  itself  that  I  might  be  summoned  to 
The  Mansion  to  take  Jenks's  place. 

At  the  close  of  our  little  interview,  he  drew  a  long  pa 
per  box  from  his  pocket,  and  gave  it  to  me  with  the  in 
junction  not  to  open  it  until  I  had  gone  half-way  to  Hills- 
borough.  I  accordingly  placed  it  in  the  boot  of  the 
chaise,  to  wait  its  appointed  time. 

Jenks  rode  with  us  as  far  as  The  Mansion,  spending 
the  time  in  instructing  my  father  just  where,  under  the 
shoulder  of  the  old  black  horse,  he  could  make  a  whip 
the  most  effective  without  betraying  the  marks'  to  Mrs. 


Arthur  Bonnicastla.  53 

Sanderson,  and, -when  we  drove  up  to  the  door,  disap 
peared  at  once  around  the  corner  of  the  house.  I  went 
in  to  take  leave  of  the  lady,  and  found  her  in  the  little 
library,  awaiting  me.  Before  her,  on  the  table,  were  a 
Barlow  pocket-knife,  a  boy's  playing-ball,  a  copy  of  the 
New  Testament,  and  a  Spanish  twenty-five  cent  piece. 

"  There,"  she  said,  "  young  man,  put  all  those  in  your 
pockets,  and  see  that  you  don't  lose  them.  1  want  you 
to  write  me  a  letter  once  a  month,  and,  when  you  write, 
begin  your  letters  with  '  Dear  Aunt.'  " 

The  sudden  accession  to  my  boyish  wealth  almost 
drove  me  wild.  I  had  received  my  first  knife  and  my 
first  silver.  I  impulsively  threw  my  arms  around  the 
neck  of  my  benefactress,  and  told  her  I  should  never, 
never  forget  her,  and  should  never  do  anything  that 
would  give  her  trouble. 

"  See  that  you  don't !  "  was  the  sharp  response. 

As  I  bade  her  good-by,  I  was  gratified  by  the  look  of 
pride  which  she  bestowed  on  me,  but  she  did  not  accom> 
pany  me  to  the  door,  or  speak  a  word  to  my  father.  So, 
at  last,  we  were  gone,  and  fairly  on  the  way.  I  revealed 
to  my  father  the  treasures  I  had  received,  and  only  at  a 
later  day  was  I  able  to  interpret  the  look  of  pain  that 
accompanied  his  congratulations.  I  was  indebted  to  a 
stranger,  who  was  trying  to  win  my  heart,  for  possessions 
which  his  poverty  forbade  him  to  bestow  upon  me. 

Of  the  delights  of  that  drive  over  the  open  country  I 
can  give  no  idea.  We  climbed  long  hills  ;  we  rode  by 
the  side  of  cool,  dashing  streams  ;  we  paused  under  the 
shadow  of  way-side  trees  ;  we  caught  sight  of  a  thousand 
forms  of  frolic  life  on  the  fences,  in  the  forests,  and  in 
the  depths  of  crystal  pools  ;  we  saw  men  at  work  in  the 
fields,  and  I  wondered  if  they  did  not  envy  us  ;  we  met 
strange  people  on  the  road,  who  looked  at  us  with  curi 
ous  interest  ;  a  black  fox  dashed  across  our  way,  and, 
giving  us  a  scared  look,  scampered  into  the  cover,  and 


56  ArtJiur  Bonnlcastle. 

was  gone  ;  bobolinks  sprang  up  in  the  long  grass  on 
wings  tangled  with  music,  and  sailed  away  and  caught 
on  fences  to  steady  themselves  ;  squirrels  took  long 
races  before  us  on  the  road-side  rails ;  and  far  up 
through  the  trees  and  above  the  hills  white-winged 
clouds  with  breasts  of  downy  brown  floated  against  a 
sky  of  deepest  blue.  Never  again  this  side  of  heaven  do 
I  expect  to  experience  such  perfect  pleasure  as  I  enjoyed 
that  day — a  delight  in  all  forms  and  phases  of  nature, 
sharpened  by  the  expectations  of  new  companionships 
and  of  a  strange  new  life  that  would  open  before  I  should 
sleep  again. 

The  half-way  stage  of  our  journey  was  reached  before 
noon,  and  I  was  quite  as  anxious  to  see  the  gift  which 
Jenks  had  placed  in  my  hands  at  parting  as  to  taste  the 
luncheon  which  my  mother  had  provided.  Accordingly, 
when  my  repast  was  taken  from  the  basket  and  spread 
before  me,  I  first  opened  the  paper  box.  I  cannot  say 
that  I  was  not  disappointed  ;  but  the  souvenir  was  one 
of  which  only  I  could  understand  the  significance,  and 
that  fact  gave  it  a  rare  charm.  It  consisted  of  a  piece 
of  a  wooden  shingle  labelled  in  pencil  "  Atlantick  Oshun," 
in  the  middle  of  which  was  a  little  ship,  standing  at  an 
angle  of  forty-five  degrees  to  the  plane  of  the  shingle,  with 
a  mast  and  a  sail  of  wood,  and  a  figure  at  the  bow,  also 
of  wood,  intended  doubtless  to  represent  Jenks  himself, 
looking  off  upon  the  boundless  waste.  The  utmost  point 
of  explanation  to  which  my  father  could  urge  me  was  the 
statement  that  some  time  something  would  happen  at 
The  Mansion  which  would  explain  all.  So  I  carefully  put 
the  "  Atlantick  Oshun  "  into  its  box,  in  which  I  preserved 
it  for  many  months,  answering  all  inquiries  concerning  it 
with  the  tantalizing  statement  that  it  was  "  a  secret." 

Toward  the  close  of  the  afternoon,  we  came  in  sight 
of  Hillsborough,  with  its  two  churches,  and  its  cluster  of 
embowered  white  houses.  It  was  perched,  like  many 


Arthur  Bonnicastle.  57 

New  England  villages,  upon  the  top  of  the  highest  hill  in 
the  region,  and  we  entered  at  last  upon  the  long  acclivity 
that  led  to  it.  Half-way  up  the  hill,  we  saw  before  us  a 
light,  open  wagon  drawn  by  two  gray  horses,  and  bear 
ing  a  gentleman  and  lady  who  were  quietly  chatting  and 
laughing  together.  As  we  drew  near  to  them,  they  sud 
denly  stopped,  and  the  gentleman,  handing  the  reins  to 
his  companion,  rose  upon  his  feet,  drew  a  rifle  to  his  eye 
and  discharged  it  at  some  object  in  the  fields.  In  an  in 
stant,  a  little  dog  bounced  out  of  the  wagon,  and,  strik 
ing  rather  heavily  upon  the  ground,  rolled  over  and  over 
three  or  four  times,  and  then,  gaining  his  feet,  went  for 
the  game.  Our  own  horse  had  stopped,  and,  as  wild  as 
the  little  dog,  I  leaped  from  the  chaise,  and  started  to 
follow.  When  I  came  up  with  the  dog  he  was  making 
the  most  extravagant  plunges  at  a  wounded  woodchuck, 
who  squatted,  chattering  and  showing  his  teeth.  I  seized 
the  nearest  weapon  in  the  shape  of  a  cudgel  that  1  could 
find,  dispatched  the  poor  creature,  and  bore  him  in  tri 
umph  to  the  gentleman,  the  little  dog  barking  and  snap 
ping  at  the  game  all  the  way. 

"  Well  done,  my  lad  !  I  have  seen  boys  who  were 
afraid  of  woodchucks.  Toss  hijn  into  the  ravine  :  he  is 
good  for  nothing,"  said  the  man  of  the  rifle. 

Then  he  looked  around,  and,  bowing  to  my  father, 
told  him  that  as  he  was  fond  of  shooting  he  had  under 
taken  to  rid  the  farms  around  him  of  the  animals  that  gave 
their  owners  so  much  trouble.  "It  is  hard  upon  the 
woodchucks,"  h.2  added,  "  but  kind  to  the  farmers." 
This  was  apparently  said  to  defend  himself  from  the 
suspicion  of  being  engaged  in  cruel  and  wanton  sport. 

At  the  sound  of  his  voice,  the  tired  and  reeking  horse 
which  my  father  drove  whinnied,  then  started  on,  and, 
coming  to  the  back  of  the  other  carriage,  placed  his  nose 
close  to  the  gentleman's  shoulder.  The  lady  looked 
around  and  smiled,  while  the  man  placed  his  hand  ca- 


58  Arthur  Bonnicastle. 

ressingly  upon  the  animal's  head.  "Animals  are  all  verj 
fond  of  me,"  said  he.  "  I  don't  understand  it  :  I  sup 
pose  they  do." 

There  was  something  exceedingly  winning  and  hearty 
in  the  gentleman's  voice,  and  I  did  not  wonder  that  all 
the  animals  liked  him. 

"  Can  you  tell  me,"  inquired  my  father,  "  where  The 
Bird's  Nest  is?" 

"  Oh,  yes,  I'm  going  there.  Indeed,  I'm  the  old 
Bird  himself." 

"  Tut!  who  takes  care  of  the  nest?"  said  the  lady 
with  a  smile. 

"  And  this  is  the  Mother  Bird— Mrs.  Bird,"  said  the 
gentleman. 

Mrs.  Bird  bowed  to  us  both,  and,  beckoning  to  me, 
pointed  to  her  side.  It  was  an  invitation  to  leave  my 
father,  and  take  a  seat  with  her.  The  little  dog,  who 
had  been  helped  into  his  master's  wagon,  saw  me  com 
ing,  and  mounted  into  his  lap,  determined  that  he  would 
shut  that  place  from  the  intruder.  I  accepted  the  invita 
tion,  and,  with  the  lady's  arm  around  me,  we  started  on. 

"Now  I  am  going  to  guess,"  said  Mr.  Bird.  "I 
guess  your  name  is  Arthur  Bonnicastle,  that  the  man 
behind  us  is  your  father,  that  you  are  coming  to  The 
Bird's  Nest  to  live,  that  you  are  intending  to  be  a  good 
boy,  and  that  you  are  going  to  be  very  happy." 

"  You've  guessed  right  the  first  time,"  I  responded, 
laughing. 

"  And  I  can  always  guess  when  a  boy  has  done  right 
and  when  he  has  done  wrong, "said  Mr.  Bird.  "  There's 
a  little  spot  in  his  eye — ah,  yes  !  you  have  it  ! — that  tells 
the  whole  story,"  and  he  looked  down  pleasantly  into 
my  face. 

At  this  moment  one  of  his  horses  discovered  a  young 
calf  by  the  roadside,  and,  throwing  back  his  ears,  gave 
it  chase.  I  had  never  seen  so  funny  a  performance. 


Arthur  Bonnicastle.  59 

The  horse,  in  genuine  frolic,  dragged  his  less  playful 
mate  and  the  wagon  through  the  gutter  and  over  rocks  for 
many  rods,  entirely  unrestrained  by  his  driver,  until  the 
scared  object  of  the  chase  slipped  between  two  bars  at 
the  roadside,  and  ran  wildly  off  into  the  field.  At  this  the 
horse  shook  his  head  in  a  comical  way  and  went  quietly 
back  into  the  road. 

"  That  horse  is  laughing  all  over,"  said  Mr.  Bird. 
"  He  thinks  it  was  an  excellent  joke.  I  presume  he  will 
think  of  it,  and  laugh  again  when  he  gets  at  his  oats." 

"  Do  you  really  think  that  horses  laugh,  Mr.  Bird  ?" 
I  inquired. 

"  Laugh  ?  Bless  you,  yes,"  he  replied.  "  All  animals 
laugh  when  they  are  pleased.  Gyp  " — and  he  turned  his 
eyes  upon  the  little  dog  in  his  lap — "  are  you  happy  ?  " 

Gyp  looked  up  into  his  master's  face,  and  wagged  his 
tail. 

"  Don't  you  see  '  Yes'  in  his  eye,  and  a  smile  in  the 
wag  of  his  tail  ?  "  said  Mr.  Bird.  "  If  I  had  asked  you 
the  same  question  you  would  have  answered  with  your 
tongue,  and  smiled  with  your  mouth.  That's  all  the 
difference.  These  creatures  understand  us  a  great  deal 
better  than  we  understand  them.  Why,  I  never  drive 
these  horses  when  I  am  finely  dressed  for  fear  they  will 
be  ashamed  of  their  old  harness." 

Then  turning  to  the  little  dog  again,  he  said  :  "  Gyp, 
get  down."  Gyp  immediately  jumped  down,  and  curled 
up  at  his  feet.  "  Gyp,  come  up  here,"  said  he,  and  Gyp 
mounted  quickly  to  his  old  seat.  "  Don't  you  see  that 
this  dog  understands  the  English  language,"  said  Mr. 
Bird  ;  "  and  don't  you  see  that  we  are  not  so  bright  as 
a  dog,  if  we  cannot  learn  his  ?  Why,  I  know  the  note 
of  every  bird,  and  every  insect,  and  every  animal  on 
all  these  hills,  and  I  know  their  ways  and  habits.  What 
is  more,  they  know  I  understand  them,  and  you  will  hear 
how  they  call  me  and  sing  to  me  at  The  Bird's  Nest." 


60  Arthur  Bonnicastle. 

So  I  had  received  my  first  lesson  from  my  new  teacher, 
and  little  did  he  appreciate  the  impression  it  had  made 
upon  me.  It  gave  me  a  sympathy  with  animal  life  and 
an  interest  in  its  habits  which  have  lasted  until  this 
hour.  It  gave  me,  too,  an  insight  into  him.  He  had  a 
strong  sympathy  in  the  life  of  a  boy,  for  his  own  sake. 
Every  new  boy  was  a  new  study  that  he  entered  upon, 
not  from  any  sense  of  duty,  or  from  any  scheme  of 
policy,  but  with  a  hearty  interest  excited  by  the  boy 
himself.  He  was  as  much  interested  in  the  animal  play 
of  a  boy  as  he  had  been  in  the  play  of  the  horse.  He 
watched  a  group  of  boys  with  the  same  hearty  amuse 
ment  that  held  him  while  witnessing  the  frolic  of  kittens 
and  lambs.  Indeed,  he  often  played  with  them  ;  and 
in  this  sympathy,  freely  manifested,  he  held  the  springs 
of  his  wonderful  power  over  them. 

We  soon  arrived  at  The  Bird's  Nest,  and  all  the 
horses  were  passed  into  other  hands.  My  little  trunk 
was  loosed,  and  carried  to  a  room  I  had  not  seen,  and 
in  a  straggling  way  we  entered  the  house. 

Before  we  alighted,  I  took  a  hurried  outside  view  of 
my  future  home.  On  the  whole,  "The  Bird's  Nest" 
would  have  been  a  good  name  for  it  if  a  man  by  any 
other  name  had  presided  over  it.  It  had  its  individual 
and  characteristic  beauty,  because  it  had  been  shaped 
to  a  special  purpose  ;  but  it  seemed  to  have  been 
brought  together  at  different  times,  and  from  wide  dis 
tances.  There  was  a  central  old  house,  and  a  hexagonal 
addition,  and  a  tower,  and  a  long  piazza  that  tied  every 
thing  together.  It  certainly  looked  grand  among  the 
humble  houses  of  the  village  ;  though  I  presume  that  a 
professional  architect  would  not  have  taken  the  highest 
pleasure  in  it.  As  Mr.  Bird  stepped  out  of  his  wagon 
ic^on  the  piazza,  and  took  off  his  hat,  I  had  an  opportu 
nity  to  see  him  and  to  fix  my  impressions  of  his  appear 
ance.  He  was  a  tall,  handsome,  strongly  built  man,  a 


Arthur  Bonnie astle.  6l 

little  past  middle  life,  with  a  certain  fulness  of  habit 
that  comes  of  good  health  and  a  happy  temperament. 
His  eye  was  blue,  his  forehead  high,  and  his  whole  face 
bright  and  beaming  with  good-nature.  His  companion 
was  a  woman  above  the  medium  size,  with  eyes  the  same 
color  of  his  own,  into  whose  plainly  parted  hair  the  frost 
had  crept,  and  upon  whose  honest  face  and  goodly  fig 
ure  hung  that  ineffable  grace  which  we  try  to  charac 
terize  by  the  word  "  motherly." 

I  heard  the  shouts  of  boys  at  play  upon  the  green,  for 
it  was  after  school  hours,  and  met  half  a  dozen  little  fel 
lows  on  the  piazza,  who  looked  at  me  with  pleasant  in 
terest  as  "  the  new  boy  ;  "  and  then  we  entered  a  parlor 
with  curious  angles,  and  furniture  that  betrayed  thorough 
occupation  and  usage.  There  were  thrifty  plants  and 
beautiful  flowers  in  the  bay-window,  for  plants  and 
flowers  came  as  readily  within  the  circle  of  Mr.  Bird's 
sympathies  as  birds  and  boys.  There  was  evidently  an 
uncovered  stairway  near  one  of  the  doors,  for  we  heard 
two  or  three  boys  running  down  the  steps  with  a  little 
more  noise  than  was  quite  agreeable.  Immediately  Gyp 
ran  to  the  door  where  the  noise  was  manifested,  and 
barked  with  all  his  might. 

"  Gyp  is  one  of  my  assistants  in  the  school,"  said  Mr. 
Bird,  in  explanation,  "  especially  in  the  matter  of  pre 
serving  order.  A  boy  never  runs  down  stairs  noisily 
without  receiving  a  scolding  from  him.  He  is  getting  a 
little  old  now  and  sensitive,  and  I  am  afraid  has  not  quite 
consideration  enough  for  the  youngsters." 

I  laughed  at  the  idea  of  having  a  dog  for  a  teacher, 
but  with  my  new  notions  of  Gyp's  capacity  I  was  quite 
ready  to  believe  what  Mr.  Bird  told  me  about  him. 

My  father  found  himself  very  much  at  home  with  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Bird,  and  was  evidently  delighted  with  them, 
and  with  my  prospects  under  their  roof  and  care.  We 
had  supper  in  the  great  dining-room  with  forty  hungry 


62  Arthur  Bonnicastle. 

but  orderly  boys,  a  pleasant  evening  with  music  after- 
ward,  and  an  early  bed.  I  was  permitted  to  sleep  with 
my  father  that  night,  and  he  was  permitted  to  take  me 
upon  his  arm,  and  pillow  my  slumbers  there,  while  he 
prayed  for  me  and  secretly  poured  out  his  love  upon  me. 

Before  we  went  to  sleep  my  father  said  a  few  words  to 
me,  but  those  words  were  new  and  made  a  deep  impres 
sion. 

"  My  little  boy,"  he  said,  "  you  have  my  life  in  your 
hands.  If  you  grow  up  into  a  true,  good  man,  I  shall 
be  happy,  although  I  may  continue  poor.  I  have  always 
worked  hard,  and  I  am  willing  to  work  even  harder  than 
ever,  if  it  is  all  right  with  you  ;  but  if  you  disappoint  me 
and  turn  out  badly,  you  will  kill  me.  I  am  living  now, 
and  expect  always  to  live,  in  and  for  my  children.  I 
have  no  ambitious  projects  for  myself,  Providence  has 
opened  a  way  for  you  which  I  did  not  anticipate.  Do 
all  you  can  to  please  the  woman  who  has  undertaken  to 
do  so  much  for  you,  but  do  not  forget  your  father  and 
mother,  and  remember  always  that  it  is  not  possible  for 
anybody  to  love  you  and  care  for  you  as  we  do.  If  you 
have  any  troubles,  come  to  me  with  them,  and  if  you  are 
tempted  to  do  wrong  pray  for  help  to  do  right.  You 
will  have  many  struggles  and  trials— everybody  has  them 
— but  you  can  do  what  you  will,  and  become  what  you 
wish  to  become." 

The  resolutions  that  night  formed — a  thousand  times 
shaken  and  a  thousand  times  renewed — became  the  de 
termining  and  fruitful  forces  of  my  life. 

The  next  morning,  when  the  old  black  horse  and 
chaise  were  brought  to  the  door,  and  my  father,  full  of 
tender  pain,  took  leave  of  me,  and  disappeared  at  last 
at  the  foot  of  the  hill,  and  I  felt  that  I  was  wholly  sepa 
rated  from  my  home,  I  cried  as  if  I  had  been  sure  that  I 
had  left  that  home  forever.  The  passion  wasted  itself 
in  Mrs.  Bird's  motherly  arms,  and  then,  with  words  of 


Arthur  Bonuicastle.  63 

cheer  and  diversions  that  occupied  my  mind,  she  cut  me 
adrift,  to  rind  my  own  soundings  in  the  new  social  life  ot 
the  school. 

Of  the  first  few  days  of  school-life  there  is  not  much  to 
be  said.  They  pass  pleasantly  enough.  The  aim  of  rny 
teachers  at  first  was  not  to  push  me  into  study,  but  to 
make  me  happy,  to  teach  me  the  ways  of  my  new  life, 
and  to  give  me  an  opportunity  to  imbibe  the  spirit  of  the 
school.  My  apprehensions  were  out  in  every  direction. 
1  learned  by  watching  others  my  own  deficiencies  ;  and 
my  appetite  for  study  grew  by  a  natural  process.  I 
could  not  be  content,  at  last,  until  I  had  become  one 
with  the  rest  in  work  and  in  acquirements. 

There  lies  before  me  now  a  package  of  my  letters, 
made  sacred  by  my  father's  interest  in  and  perusal  and 
preservation  of  them  ;  and,  although  I  have  no  intention 
to  burden  these  pages  with  their  crudenesses  and  puerili 
ties,  I  cannot  resist  the  temptation  to  reproduce  the  first 
which  I  wrote  at  The  Bird's  Nest,  and  sent  home.  I 
shall  spare  to  the  reader  its  wretched  orthography,  and 
reproduce  it  entire,  in  the  hope  that  he  will  at  least  enjoy 
its  unconscious  humor. 

THE  BIRD'S  NEST. 
DEAR  PRECIOUS  FATHER  : 

I  have  lost  my  ball.  I  don't  know  where  in  the  world  it  can 
be.  It  seemed  to  get  away  from  me  in  a  curious  style.  Mr.  Bird 
is  very  kind,  and  I  like  him  very  much.  I  am  sorry  to  say  I  have 
lost  my  Barlow  knife  too.  Mr.  Bird  says  a  Barlow  knife  is  a  very 
good  thing.  I  don't  quite  think  I  have  lost  the  twenty-five  cent 
piece.  I  have  not  seen  it  since  yesterday  morning,  and  I  think  I 
shall  find  it.  Henry  Hulm,  who  is  my  chum,  and  a  very  smart 
boy,  I  can  tell  you,  thinks  the  money  will  be  found.  Mr.  Bird 
says  there  must  be  a  hole  in  the  top  of  my  pocket.  I  don't  know 
what  to  do.  I  am  afraid  Aunt  Sanderson  will  be  cross  about  it. 
Mr.  (Jird  thinks  I  ought  to  give  my  knife  to  the  boy  that  will  find 
the  money,  and  the  money  to  the  boy  that  will  find  the  knife,  but 
I  don't  see  as  I  should  make  much  in  that  way,  do  you?  I  love 
Mrs.  Bird  verv  much.  Miss  Butler  is  the  dearest  young  lady  I 


64  Arthur  Bonnicastle. 

ever  kn2\v  Mrs.  Bird  kisses  us  all  when  we  go  to  bed,  and  it 
seems  real  good.  I  have  put  the  testament  in  the  bottom  of  my 
trunk,  under  all  the  things.  I  shall  keep  that  if  possible.  If  Mrs. 
Sanderson  finds  out  that  I  have  lost  the  things,  I  wish  you  would 
explain  it  and  tell  her  the  testament  is  safe.  Miss  Butler  has 
dark  eyebrows  and  wears  a  belt.  Mr.  Bird  has  killed  another 
woodchuck.  I  wonder  if  you  left  the  key  of  my  trunk.  It  seems 
to  be  gone.  We  have  real  good  times,  playing  ball  and  taking 
walks.  I  have  walked  out  with  Miss  Butler.  I  wish  mother  could 
see  her  hair,  and  I  am  your  son  with  ever  so  much  love  to  you 
and  mother  and  all, 

ARTHUR  BONNICASTLE. 


CHAPTER   IV. 

IN  WHICH  THE   COURSE  OF  TRUE  LOVE    IS    NOT    PER 
MITTED   TO    RUN   AT   ALL. 

THE  first  night  which  I  spent  in  The  Bird's  Nest,  after 
my  father  left  me,  was  passed  alone,  though  my  room 
opened  into  another  that  was  occupied  by  two  boys.  On 
the  following  day  Mr.  Bird- asked  me  if  I  had  met  with 
any  boy  whom  I  would  like  for  a  room-mate  ;  and  I  told 
him  at  once  that  Henry  Hulm  was  the  boy  I  wanted. 
He  smiled  at  my  selection,  and  asked  for  the  reason  of 
it ;  and  he  smiled  more  warmly  still  when  I  told  him  I 
thought  he  was  handsome,  and  seemed  lonely  and  sad. 
The  lad  was  at  least  two  years  older  than  I,  but  among 
all  the  boys  he  had  been  my  first  and  supreme  attrac 
tion.  He  was  my  opposite  in  every  particular.  Quiet, 
studious,  keeping  much  by  himself,  and  bearing  in  his 
dark  face  and  eyes  a  look  of  patient  self-repression,  he 
enlisted  at  once  my  curiosity,  my  sympathy  and  my 
admiration. 

Henry  was  called  into  our  consultation,  and  Mr.  Bird 
informed  him  of  my  choice.  The  boy  smiled  gratefully. 


Arthur  Bonnicastle.  65 

for  he  had  been  shunned  by  the  ruder  fellows  for  the 
same  qualities  which  had  attracted  me.  As  the  room  I 
occupied  was  better  than  his,  his  trunk  was  moved  into 
mine  ;  and  while  we  remained  in  the  school  we  con 
tinued  our  relations  and  kept  the  same  apartment.  If  I 
had  any  distinct  motive  of  curiosity  in  selecting  him  he 
never  gratified  it.  He  kept  his  history  covered,  and  very 
rarely  alluded,  in  any  way,  to  his  home  or  his  family. 

The  one  possession  which  he  seemed  to  prize  more 
highly  than  any  other  was  an  ivory  miniature  portrait  of 
his  mother,  which,  many  a  time  during  our  life  together, 
1  saw  him  take  from  his  trunk  and  press  to  his  lips.  I 
soon  learned  to  respect  his  reticence  on  topics  which 
were  quite  at  home  on  my  own  lips.  I  suspect  I  did 
talking  enough  for  two  boys.  Indeed,  I  threw  my  whole 
life  open  to  him,  with  such  embellishments  as  my  imagi 
nation  suggested.  He  seemed  interested  in  my  talk, 
and  was  apparently  pleased  with  me.  I  brought  a  new 
element  into  his  life,  and  we  became  constant  compan 
ions  when  out  of  school,  as  well  as  when  we  were  in  oui 
room. 

We  were  always  wakened'  in  the  morning  by  a 
"whoop"  and  "halloo"  that  ran  from  room  to  room 
over  the  whole  establishment.  A  little  bell  started  it 
somewhere  ;  and  the  first  boy  who  heard  it  gave  his  call, 
which  was  taken  up  by  the  rest  and  borne  on  from  bed 
to  bed  until  the  whole  brood  was  in  full  cry.  Thus  the 
school  called  itself.  It  was  the  voices  of  merry  and  wide 
awake  boys  that  roused  the  drowsy  ones  ;  and  very  rarely 
did  a  dull  and  sulky  face  show  itself  in  the  breakfast- 
room. 

This  morning  call  was  the  key  to  all  the  affairs  of  the 
day  and  to  the  policy  of  the  school.  Self-direction  and 
self-government — these  were  the  most  important  of  all 
the  lessons  learned  at  The  Bird's  Nest.  Our  school  was 
a  little  community  brought  together  for  common  objects 


66  Arthur  Bonnicastle. 

—  the  pursuit  of  useful  learning,  the  acquisition  of  cour 
teous  manners,  and  the  practice  of  those  duties  which 
relate  to  good  citizenship.  The  only  laws  of  the  school 
were  those  which  were  planted  in  the  conscience,  reason, 
and  sense  of  propriety  of  the  pupils.  The  ingenuity  with 
which  these  were  developed  and  appealed  to  has  been, 
from  that  day  to  this,  the  subject  of  my  unbounded  ad 
miration.  The  boys  were  made  to  feel  that  the  school 
was  their  own,  and  that  they  were  responsible  for  its 
good  order.  Mr.  Bird  was  only  the  biggest  and  best 
boy,  and  the  accepted  president  of  the  establishment. 
The  responsibility  of  the  boys  was  not  a  thing  of  theory 
only.  It  was  deeply  realized  in  the  conscience  and  con 
duct  of  the  school.  However  careless  and  refractory  a 
new  boy  might  be,  he  soon  learned  that  he  had  a  whole 
school  to  deal  with,  and  that  he  was  not  a  match  for  the 
public  opinion.  He  might  evade  the  master's  or  a  teach 
er's  will,  but  he  could  not  evade  the  eyes  or  the  senti 
ments  of  the  little  fellows  around  him. 

On  the  first  Friday  evening  of  my  term,  I  entered  as 
a  charmed  and  thoroughly  happy  element  into  one  of  the 
social  institutions  of  the  school.  On  every  Friday  even 
ing,  after  the  hard  labor  of  the  week  was  over,  it  was  the 
custom  of  the  school  to  hold  what  was  called  a  "  recep 
tion."  Teachers  and  pupils  made  the  best  toilet  they 
could,  and  spent  the  evening  in  the  parlors,  dancing, 
and  listening  to  music,  and  socially  receiving  the  towns 
people  and  such  strangers  as  might  happen  to  be  in  the 
village.  The  piano  that  furnished  the  music  wis  the  first 
I  had  ever  heard,  and  at  least  half  of  my  first  reception- 
evening  was  spent  by  its  side,  in  watching  the  skilful 
and  handsome  fingers  that  flew  over  its  mystericus  keys. 
I  had  always  been  taught  that  dancing  was  only  indulged 
in  by  wicked  people  ;  but  there  were  dear  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Bird  looking  on  ;  there  was  precious  Miss  Butler  without 
her  belt,  leading  little  fellows  like  myself  through  the 


Artliur  Bonnicastle.  67 

mazes  of  the  figures  ;  there  were  twenty  innocent  and 
happy  boys  on  the  floor,  their  eyes  sparkling  with  ex 
citement  ;  there  were  fine  ladies  who  had  come  to  see 
their  boys,  and  village  maidens  simply  clad  and  as  fresh 
as  roses  ;  and  I  could  not  make  out  that  there  was  any 
thing  wicked  about  it. 

It  was  the  theory  of  Mr.  Bird  that  the  more  the  boys 
could  be  brought  into  daily  familiar  association  with 
good  and  gracious  women  the  better  it  would  be  for 
them.  Accordingly  he  had  no  men  among  his  teachers, 
and  as  his  school  was  the  social  centre  of  the  village, 
and  all  around  him  were  interested  in  his  objects,  there 
were  always  ladies  and  young  women  at  the  receptions 
who  devoted  themselves  to  the  happiness  of  the  boys. 
Little  lads  of  less  than  ten  summers  found  no  difficulty 
in  securing  partners  who  were  old  enough  to  be  their 
mothers  and  grandmothers  ;  and  as  I  look  back  upon 
the  patient  and  hearty  efforts  of  these  women,  week  after 
week  and  year  after  year,  to  make  the  boys  happy  and 
manly  and  courteous,  it  enhances  my  respect  for  woman 
hood,  and  for  the  wisdom  which  laid  all  its  plans  to  se 
cure  these  attentions  and  this  influence  for  us.  I  never 
saw  a  sheepish-looking  boy  or  a  sheepish-acting  boy 
who  had  lived  a  year  at  The  Bird's  Nest.  Through  the 
influence  of  the  young  women  engaged  as  teachers  and 
of  those  who  came  as  sympathetic  visitors,  the  boys  never 
failed  to  become  courteous,  self-respectful,  and  fearless 
in  society. 

Miss  Butler,  the  principal  teacher,  who  readily  under 
stood  my  admiration  of  her,  undertook  early  in  the 
evening,  to  get  me  upon  the  floor  ;  but  it  was  all  too 
new  to  me,  and  I  begged  to  be  permitted  for  one  even 
ing  to  look  on  and  do  nothing.  She  did  not  urge  me  ; 
so  I  played  the  part  of  an  observer.  One  of  the  first 
incidents  of  the  evening  that  attracted  my  attention 
was  the  entrance  in  great  haste  of  a  good-natured,  rol« 


68  Arthur  Bonnie astle. 

licking  boy,  whose  name  I  had  learned  from  the  fellowi 
to  be  Jack  Linton.  Jack  had  been  fishing  and  had  come 
home  late.  His  toilet  had  been  hurried,  and  he  came 
blundering  into  the  room  with  his  laughing  face  flushed, 
his  necktie  awry,  and  his  heavy  boots  on. 

Mr.  Bird,  who  saw  everything,  beckoned  Jack  to  his 
side.  "  Jack,"  said  he,  "  you  are  a  very  rugged  boy." 

"  Am  I  ?  "  and  Jack  laughed. 

"  Yes,  it  is  astonishing  what  an  amount  of  exercise 
you  require,"  said  Mr.  Bird. 

"  Is  it  ?  "     And  Jack  laughed  again. 

"  Yes,  I  see  you  have  your  rough  boots  on  for  another 
walk.  Suppose  you  walk  around  Robin  Hood's  Barn, 
and  report  yourself  in  a  light,  clean  pair  of  shoes,  as 
soon  as  you  return." 

Jack  laughed  again,  but  he  made  rather  sorry  work  of 
it ;  and  then  he  went  out..  "  Robin  Hood's  Barn  "  was 
the  name  given  to  a  lonely  building  a  mile  distant,  to 
which  Mr.  Bird  was  in  the  habit  of  sending  boys  whose 
surplus  vitality  happened  to  lead  them  into  boisterous- 
ness  or  mischief.  Gyp,  who  had  been  an  attentive  lis 
tener  to  the  conversation,  and  apparently  understood 
every  word  of  it,  followed  Jack  to  the  door,  and,  having 
dismissed  him  into  the  pleasant  moonlight,  gave  one  or 
two  light  yelps  and  went  back  into  the  drawing-room. 

Jack  was  a  brisk  walker  and  a  lively  runner,  and  be 
fore  an  hour  had  elapsed  was  in  the  drawing-room  again, 
looking  as  good-natured  as  if  nothing  unusual  had  oc 
curred.  I  looked  at  his  feet  and  saw  that  they  were  ir 
reproachably  incased  in  light,  shining  shoes,  and  that 
his  necktie  had  been  readjusted.  He  came  directly  to 
Mr.  Bird  and  said  :  "  I  have  had  a  very  pleasant  walk, 
Mr.  Bird." 

"Ah!  I'm  delighted,"  responded  the  master,  smil 
ing  ;  and  then  added  : 

"  Did  you  meet  anybody  ?  " 


Arthur  Bonnicastle.  69 

"  Yes,  sir  ;  I  met  a  cow." 

"  What  did  you  say  to  her  ?  " 

"I  said,  'How  do  you  do,  ma'am?  How's  youi 
calf?'" 

;'  What  did  she  say  ?  "  asked  Mr.  Bird,  very  much 
amused. 

"  She  said  the  calf  was  very  well,  and  would  be  tough 
enough  for  the  boys  in  about  two  weeks,"  replied  Jack, 
with  a  loud  laugh. 

Mr.  Bird  enjoyed  the  sally  quite  as  much  as  the  boys 
who  had  gathered  round  him,  and  added  : 

"  We  all  know  who  will  want  the  largest  piece,  Jack. 
Now  go  to  your  dancing." 

In  a  minute  afterward,  Jack  was  on  the  floor  with  a 
matronly-looking  lady  to  whom  he  related  the  events  of 
the  evening  without  the  slightest  sense  of  annoyance  or 
disgrace.  But  that  was  the  last  time  he  ever  attended  a 
reception  in  his  rough  boots. 

The  evening  was  filled  with  life  and  gayety  and  free 
dom.  To  my  unaccustomed  eyes  it  was  a  scene  of  en 
chantment.  I  wished  my  father  could  see  it.  I  would 
have  given  anything  and  everything  I  had  to  give  could 
he  have  looked  in  upon  it.  I  was  sure  there  was  nothing 
wrong  in  such  amusement.  1  could  not  imagine  how  a 
boy  could  be  made  worse  by  such  happiness,  and  I 
never  discovered  that  he  was.  Indeed,  I  can  trace  a 
thousand  good  and  refining  influences  to  those  evenings. 
They  were  the  shining  goals  of  every  week's  race  with 
my  youthful  competitors  ;  and  while  they  were  ac 
counted  simply  as  pleasures  by  us,  they  were  regarded 
by  the  master  and  the  teachers  as  among  the  choicest 
means  of  education.  The  manners  of  the  school  were 
shaped  by  them  ;  and  I  know  that  hundreds  of  boys  at 
tribute  to  them  their  release  from  the  bondage  of  bash- 
fulness,  under  which  many  a  man  suffers  while  in  the 
presence  of  women  during  all  his  life. 


70  ArtJiur  Bonnicastle. 

I  repeat  that  I  have  never  discovered  that  a  boy  was 
made  worse  by  his  experiences  and  exercises  during 
those  precious  evenings  ;  and  I  have  often  thought  how 
sad  a  thing  it  is  for  a  child  to  learn  that  he  has  been 
deceived  or  misinformed  by  his  parents  with  relation  to 
a  practice  so  charged  with  innocent  enjoyment.  I  enter 
here  no  plea  for  dancing  beyond  a  faithful  record  of  its 
effect  upon  the  occupants  of  The  Bird's  Nest.  I  sup 
pose  the  amusement  may  be  liable  to  abuse  :  most  good 
things  are  ;  and  I  do  not  know  why  this  should  be  an  ex 
ception.  This,  however,  I  am  sure  it  is  legitimate  to  say  : 
that  the  sin  of  abuse,  be  it  great  or  little,  is  venial  com 
pared  with  that  which  presents  to  the  conscience  as  a  sin 
in  itself  that  which  is  not  a  sin  in  itself,  and  thus  charges 
an  innocent  amusement  with  the  flavor  of  guilt,  and  drives 
the  young,  in  their  exuberant  life  and  love  of  harmonious 
play,  beyond  the  pale  of  Christian  sympathy. 

As  I  recall  the  events  of  the  occasion  I  find  it  impos 
sible  to  analyze  the  feeling  that  one  figure  among  the 
dancers  begot  in  me.  Whenever  Miss  Butler  was  on 
the  floor  I  saw  only  her.  Her  dark  eyes,  her  heavy 
shining  hair,  the  inexpressible  ease  of  her  motions,  her 
sunny  smile — that  combination  of  graces  and  manners 
which  makes  what  we  call  womanliness — fascinated  me, 
and  inspired  me  with  just  as  much  love  as  it  is  possible 
for  a  boy  to  entertain.  I  am  sure  no  girl  of  my  own  age 
could  have  felt  toward  her  as  I  did.  I  should  have  been 
angry  with  any  boy  who  felt  toward  her  thus,  and  equally 
angry  with  any  boy  who  did  not  admire  her  as  much,  or 
who  should  doubt,  or  undertake  to  cheapen,  her  charms. 
How  can  I  question  that  it  was  the  dawn  within  me  of 
the  grand  passion — an  apprehension  of  personal  and 
spiritual  fitness  for  companionship?  Pure  as  childhood, 
inspired  by  personal  loveliness,  clothing  its  object  witli 
all  angelic  perfections,  this  boy-love  for  a  woman  has 
always  been  to  me  the  subject  of  pathetic  admiration, 


Arthur  Bonnicastle.  71 

and  has  proved  that  the  sweetest  realm  of  love  is  un« 
tainted  by  any  breath  of  sense. 

There  was  a  blind  sort  of  wish  within  me  for  posses 
sion,  even  at  this  early  age,  and  I  amused  the  lady  by 
giving  utterance  to  my  feelings.  Wearied  with  the 
dancing,  she  took  my  hand  and  led  me  to  a  retired 
seat,  where  we  had  a  delightful  chat. 

"  I  think  you  were  born  too  soon,"  I  said  to  her,  stili 
clinging  to  her  hand,  and  looking  my  admiration. 

"Oh!  if  I  had  been  born  later,"  she  replied,  "I 
should  not  be  here.  I  should  be  a  little  girl  some 
where." 

"  I  don't  think  I  should  love  you  if  you  were  a  little 
girl,"  I  responded. 

"  Then  perhaps  you  were  not  born  soon  enough,"  she 
suggested. 

"  But  if  I  had  been  born  sooner  I  shouldn't  be  here 
now,"  I  said. 

"  That's  true,"  said  the  lady,  "  and  that  would  be  very 
bad,  wouldn't  it  ?  " 

"  Yes,  ever  so  bad,"  I  said.  "  I  wouldn't  miss  being 
here  with  you  for  a  hundred  dollars." 

The  mode  in  which  I  had  undertaken  to  measure  the 
pleasure  of  her  society  amused  Miss  Butler  very  much  ; 
and  as  I  felt  that  the  sum  had  not  impressed  her  suf 
ficiently,  I  added  fifty  to  it.  At  this  she  laughed  hear 
tily,  and  said  I  was  a  strange  boy,  a  statement  which  I 
received  as  pleasant  flattery. 

"  Did  you  ever  hear  of  the  princess  who  was  put  to 
sleep  for  a  hundred  years  and  kept  young  and  beautiful 
through  it  all  ?  "  I  inquired. 

"  Yes." 

"  Well,  I  wish  Mr.  Bird  were  an  enchanter,  and  would 
put  you  to  sleep  until  I  get  to  be  a  man,"  I  said. 

"  But  then  I  couldn't  see  you  for  ten  years,"  she  re 
plied. 


72  Arthur  Bonnicastle. 

"  Oh  dear! "  I  exclaimed,  "  it  seems  to  be  all  wrong/ 

"  Well,  my  boy,  there  are  a  great  many  things  in  the 
world  that  seem  to  be  all  wrong.  It  is  wrong  for  you  to 
talk  such  nonsense  to  me,  and  it  is  wrong  for  me  to  let 
you  do  it,  and  we  will  not  do  wrong  in  this  way  any  more. 
But  I  like  you,  and  we  will  be  good  friends  always." 

Thus  saying,  my  love  dismissed  me,  and  went  back 
among  the  boys  ;  but  little  did  she  know  how  sharp  a 
pang  she  left  in  my  heart.  The  forbidden  subject  was 
never  mentioned  again,  and  like  other  boys  under  simi 
lar  circumstances,  I  survived. 

There  was  one  boy  besides  myself  who  enacted  the 
part  of  an  observer  during  that  evening.  He  was  a  new 
boy,  who  had  entered  the  school  only  a  few  days  before 
myself.  He  was  from  the  city,  and  looked  with  hearty 
contempt  upon  the  whole  entertainment.  He  had  made 
no  friends  during  the  fortnight  which  had  passed  since 
he  became  an  occupant  of  The  Bird's  Nest.  His  haughty 
and  supercilious  ways,  his  habit  of  finding  fault  with  the 
school  and  everything  connected  with  it,  his  overbearing 
treatment  of  the  younger  boys,  and  his  idle  habits  had 
brought  upon  him  the  dislike  of  all  the  fellows.  His 
name  was  Frank  Andrews,  though  for  some  reason  we 
never  called  him  by  his  first  name.  He  gave  us  all  to 
understand  that  he  was  a  gentleman's  son,  that  he  was 
rich,  and,  particularly,  that  he  was  in  the  habit  of  doing 
what  pleased  him  and  nothing  else. 

He  was  dressed  better  than  any  of  the  other  boys,  and 
carried  a  watch,  the  chain  of  which  he  took  no  pains  to 
conceal.  During  all  the  evening  he  stood  here  and  there 
about  the  rooms,  his  arms  folded,  looking  on  with  his 
critical  eyes  and  cynical  smile.  Nobody  took  notice  of 
him,  and  he  seemed  to  be  rather  proud  of  his  isolation. 
I  do  not  know  why  he  should  have  spoken  to  me,  for  he 
was  my  senior,  but  toward  the  close  of  the  evening  ha 
came  up  to  me  and  said  in  his  patronizing  way  • 


ArtJiur  Bonnicastle.  73 

"  Well,  little  chap,  how  do  you  like  it  ?  " 

"  Oh  !  I  think  it's  beautiful,"  I  replied. 

"  Do  you  !  That's  because  you're  green,"  said  An 
drews. 

"/jit!  "I  responded,  imitating  his  tone.  "  Thea 
they're  all  green — Mr.  Bird  and  all." 

"  There's  where  you're  right,  little  chap,"  said  he. 
':'  They  are  all  green — Mr.  Bird  and  all." 

"  Miss  Butler  isn't  green,"  I  asserted  stoutly. 

"  Oh  !  isn't  she  ?  "  exclaimed  Andrews,  with  a  degree 
of  sarcasm  in  his  tone  that  quite  exasperated  me.  "  Oh, 
no  !  Miss  Butler  isn't  green,  of  course,"  he  continued,  as 
he  saw  my  face  reddening.  "  She's  a  duck — so  she  is  ! 
so  she  is  !  and  if  you  are  a  good  little  boy  you  shall 
waddle  around  with  her  some  time,  so  you  shall !  " 

I  was  so  angry  that  I  am  sure  I  should  have  struck 
him  if  we  had  been  out  of  doors,  regardless  of  his  supe 
rior  size  and  age.  I  turned  sharply  on  my  heel,  and, 
retiring  to  a  corner  of  the  room,  glared  at  him  savagely, 
to  his  very  great  amusement. 

It  was  at  this  moment  that  the  bell  rang  for  bed  ;  and 
receiving,  one  after  another,  the  kisses  of  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Bird,  and  bidding  the  guests  a  good-night,  some  of 
whom  were  departing  while  others  remained,  we  wenl 
to  our  rooms. 
4 


74  Arthur  Bonnicastle. 


CHAPTER  V. 

THE   DISCIPLINE  OF    THE   BIRD'S  NEST  AS  ILLUSTRATES 
BY   TWO    STARTLING    PUBLIC    TRIALS. 

SCARCELY  less  interesting  than  the  exercises  of  recep 
tion  evening  were  those  of  the  "  family  meeting,"  as  it 
was  called,  which  was  always  held" on  Sunday.  This 
family  meeting  was  one  of  the  most  remarkable  of  all 
the  institutions  of  The  Bird's  Nest.  It  was  probably 
more  influential  upon  us  than  even  the  attendance  at 
church,  and  our  Bible  lessons  there,  which  occurred  on 
the  same  day,  for  its  aim  and  its  result  were  the  appli 
cation  of  the  Christian  rule  to  our  actual,  every-day 
conduct. 

I  attended  the  family  meeting  which  was  held  on  my 
first  Sunday  at  the  school  with  intense  interest.  I  sus 
pect,  indeed,  that  few  more  interesting  and  impressive 
meetings  had  ever  been  held  in  the  establishment. 

After  we  were  all  gathered  in  the  hall,  including  Mrs. 
Bird  and  the  teachers,  as  well  as  the  master,  Mr.  Bird 
looked  kindly  out  upon  us  and  said  : 

"  Well,  boys,  has  anything  happened  during  the  week 
that  we  ought  to  discuss  to-day  ?  Is  the  school  going 
along  all  right  ?  Have  you  any  secrets  buttoned  up  in 
your  jackets  that  you  ought  to  show  to  me  and  to  the 
school  ?  Is  there  anything  wrong  going  on  which  will 
do  harm  to  the  boys  ?  " 

As  Mr.  Bird  spoke,  changing  the  form  of  his  question 
so  as  to  reach  the  consciences  of  his  boys  from  different 
directions,  and  get  time  to  read  their  faces,  there  was  a 
dead  silence.  When  he  paused,  every  boy  felt  that  his 
face  had  been  shrewdly  read  and  was  still  under  inspec 
tion. 

"  Yes,  there  is  something  wrong  :  I  sec  it,"  said  Mr 


Arthur  Bonnicastle  75 

Bird,  "  I  see  it  in  several  faces  ;  but  Tom  Kendrick  can 
tell  us  just  what  it  is.  And  he  will  teli  us  just  what  it  is, 
for  Tom  Kendrick  never  lies." 

All  eves  were  instantly  turned  on  Tom,  a  blushing, 
frank-faced  boy  of  twelve.  Close  beside  him  sat  An 
drews,  the  new  boy,  who  had  so  roused  my  anger  on 
Friday  night.  His  face  wore  tbo  same  supercilious, 
contemptuous  expression  that  it  wore  that  night.  The 
whole  proceeding  seemed  to  impress  him  as  unworthy 
even  the  toleration  of  a  eentleman's  son,  yet  I  felt  sure 
that  he  would  be  in  some  way  implicated  in  Tom  Ken- 
drick's  revelations.  Indeed,  there  was,  or  I  thought 
there  was,  a  look  of  conscious  guilt  on  his  face  and  the 
betrayal  of  excitement  in  his  eye,  when  Tom  rose  to  re 
spond  to  Mr.  Bird's  bidding. 

Tom  hesitated,  evidently  very  unwilling  to  begin.  He 
looked  blushingly  at  Mrs.  Bird  and  the  teachers,  then 
looked  down,  and  tried  to  start,  but  his  tongue  was  dry. 

"  Well,  Tom,  we  are  all  ready  to  hear  you,"  said  Mr. 
Bird. 

After  a  little  stammering,  Tom  pronounced  the  name 
of  Andrews,  and  told  in  simple,  straightforward  lan 
guage,  how  he  had  been  in  the  habit  of  relating  stories 
and  using  words  which  were  grossly  immodest ;  how  he 
had  done  this  repeatedly  in  his  hearing  and  against  his 
protests,  and  furthermore,  how  he  had  indulged  in  this 
language  in  the  presence  of  smaller  boys.  Tom  also 
testified  that  other  boys  besides  himself  had  warned 
Andrews  that  if  he  did  not  mend  his  habit  he  would  be 
reported  at  the  family  meeting. 

There  was  the  utmost  silence  in  the  room.  The 
dropping  of  a  pin  could  have  been  heard  in  any  part  of 
it,  for,  while  the  whole  school  disliked  Andrews,  his 
arrogance  had  impressed  them,  and  they  felt  that  he 
would  be  a  hard  boy  to  deal  with.  I  watched  alter 
nately  the  accuser  and  the  accused,  and  I  trembled  in 


76  Arthur  Bonnicastlc, 

every  nerve  to  see  the  passion  depicted  on  the  features 
of  the  latter.  His  face  became  pale  at  first — deathly 
pale — then  livid  and  pinched — and  then  it  burned  with 
a  hot  flame  of  shame  and  anger.  He  sat  as  if  he  were 
expecting  the  roof  to  fall,  and  were  bracing  himself  to 
resist  the  shock. 

When  Tom  took  his  seat  Andrews  leaned  toward  him 
and  muttered  something  in  his  ear. 

"  What  does  he  say  to  you,  Tom  ?  "  inquired  Mr.  Bird. 

"  He  says  he'll  flog  me  for  telling,"  answered  Tom. 

"  We  will  attend  to  that,"  said  Mr.  Bird.  "  But  first 
let  us  hear  from  others  about  this  matter.  Has  any 
other  boy  heard  this  foul  language  ?  Henry  Hulm,  can 
you  tell  us  anything  ?  " 

Henry  was  another  boy  who  always  told  the  truth  ; 
and  Henry's  testimony  was  quite  as  positive  as  Tom's, 
though  it  was  given  with  even  more  reluctance.  Other 
boys  testified  in  confirmation  of  the  report  of  Tom  and 
Henry,  until,  in  the  opinion  of  the  school,  Andrews  was 
shamefully  guilty  of  the  matter  charged  upon  him.  I 
was  quite  ignorant  of  the  real  character  of  the  offence, 
and  wondered  whether  his  calling  Miss  Butler  a  duck 
was  in  the  line  of  his  sin,  and  whether  my  testimony  to 
the  fact  was  called  for.  No  absurdity,  such  as  this  would 
have  been,  broke  in  upon  the  earnest  solemnity  of  the 
occasion,  however,  and  the  house  was  silent  until  Mr. 
Bird  said  : 

"  What  have  you  to  say  for  yourself,  Andrews  ?  " 

The  boy  was  no  whit  humbler.  Revenge  was  in  hia 
heart  and  defiance  in  his  eye.  He  looked  Mr.  Bird 
boldly  in  the  face  ;  his  lips  trembled,  but  he  made  no 
reply. 

"Nothing?"  Mr.  Bird's  voice  was  severe  this  time, 
and  rang  like  a  trumpet. 

Andrews  bit  his  lips,  and  blurted  out:  "I  think  it  is 
mean  for  one  boy  to  tell  on  another." 


Arthur  Bonnicastle.  77 

"I  don't,"  responded  Mr.  Bird;  "but  I'll  tell  you 
•that  is  mean  :  it  ia  mean  for  one  boy  to  pollute  another 
^to  fill  his  mind  with  words  and  thoughts  that  make 
/iini  mean  ;  and  I  should  be  sorry  to  believe  that  I  have 
any  other  boy  in  school  who  is  half  as  mean  as  you  are. 
If  there  is  anything  to  be  said  about  mean  boys,  you 
are  not  the  boy  to  say  it." 

At  first,  I  confess  that  I  was  quite  inclined  to  sympa 
thize  with  the  lad  in  his  view  of  the  dishonor  of  "  telling 
on"  a  boy,  notwithstanding  my  old  grudge;  but  my 
judgment  went  with  the  majority  at  last. 

Mr.  Bird  said  that,  as  there  were  several  new  boys  in 
the  school  it  would  be  best,  perhaps,  to  talk  over  this 
matter  of  reporting  one  another's  bad  conduct  to  him 
and  to  the  school. 

"  When  boys  first  come  here,"  said  Mr.  Bird,  "  they 
invariably  have  those  false  notions  of  honor  which  lead 
them  to  cover  up  all  the  wrong-doings  of  their  mates  ; 
but  they  lose  them  just  as  soon  as  they  find  themselves 
responsible  for  the  good  order  of  our  little  community. 
Now  we  are  all  citizens  of  this  little  town  of  Hillsbor- 
ough,  in  which  we  live.  We  have  our  own  town  authori 
ties  and  our  magistrate,  and  we  are  all  interested  in  the 
good  order  of  the  village.  Suppose  a  man  should  come 
here  to  live  who  is  in  the  habit  of  robbing  hen-roosts,  or 
setting  barns  on  fire,  or  getting  drunk  and  beating  his 
wife  and  children  :  is  it  a  matter  of  honor  among  those 
citizens  who  behave  themselves  properly  to  shield  him  in 
his  crimes,  and  refrain  from  speaking  of  him  to  the  au 
thorities  ?  Why,  the  thing  is  absurd.  As  good  citizens 
— as  honorable  citizens— we  must  report  this  man,  for 
he  is  a  public  enemy.  He  is  not  only  dangerous  to  us, 
but  he  is  a  disgrace  to  us.  So  long  as  he  is  permitted 
to  live  among  us,  unreproved  and  uncorrected,  every 
man  in  the  community  familiar  with  his  misdeeds  is,  to 
a  certain  extent,  responsible  for  them.  Very  "veil  :  we 


78  Arthur  Bonnicastle. 

have  in  this  house  a  little  republic,  and  if  you  can  learn 
to  govern  yourselves  here,  and  to  take  care  of  the  ene 
mies  of  the  order  and  welfare  of  the  school,  you  will  be 
come  good  citizens,  prepared  to  perform  the  duties  of 
good  citizenship.  I  really  know  of  nothing  more  demor 
alizing  to  a  boy,  or  more  ruinous  to  a  school,  than  that 
false  sense  of  honor  which  leads  to  the  covering  up  of 
one  another's  faults  of  conduct. 

Mr.  Bird  paused,  and,  fixing  his  eye  upon  Andrews, 
who  had  not  once  taken  his  eye  from  him,  resumed : 
"  Now  here  is  a  lad  who  has  come  to  us  from  a  good 
family  ;  and  they  have  sent  him  here  to  get  him  away 
from  bad  influences  and  bad  companions.  He  comes 
into  a  community  of  boys  who  are  trying  to  lead  good 
lives,  and  instead  of  adopting  the  spirit  of  the  school, 
and  trying  to  become  one  with  us,  he  still  holds  the 
spirit  of  the  bad  companions  of  his  previous  life,  and 
goes  persistently  to  work  to  make  all  around  him  as  im 
pure  and  base  as  himself.  Nearly  all  these  boys  have 
mothers  and  sisters,  who  would  be  pained  almost  to  dis 
traction  to  learn  that  here,  upon  these  pure  hills,  they 
are  drinking  in  social  poison  with  every  breath.  How 
am  I  to  guard  you  from  this  evil  if  I  do  not  know  of  it  ? 
How  can  I  protect  you  from  harm  if  you  shield  the  boy 
who  harms  you  ?  There  is  no  mischief  of  which  a  boy 
is  capable  that  will  not  breed  among  you  like  a  pesti 
lence  if  you  cover  it ;  and  instead  of  sending  you  back 
to  your  homes  at  last  with  healthy  bodies  and  healthy 
minds  and  pure  spirits,  I  shall  be  obliged,  with  shame 
and  tears,  to  return  you  soiled  and  spotted  and  diseased. 
Is  it  honorable  to  protect  crime  ?  Is  it  honorable  to 
shield  one  who  dishonors  and  damages  you  ?  Is  it  hon 
orable  to  disappoint  your  parents  and  to  cheat  me  ?  Is 
it  honorable  to  permit  these  dear  little  fellows  to  be 
spoiled,  when  the  wicked  lad  who  is  spoiling  them  is  al* 
lowed  to  go  free  of  arrest  and  conviction  ? 


Artliur  Bonnicastle.  79 

Of  course  I  cannot  pretend  to  reproduce  the  exact 
words  in  which  Mr.  Bird  clothed  his  little  argumentative 
address.  I  was  too  young  at  the  time  to  do  more  than 
apprehend  the  meaning  of  it  :  and  the  words  that  I  give 
are  mainly  remembered  from  repetitions  of  the  same  ar 
gument  in  the  years  that  followed.  The  argument  and 
the  lesson,  however,  in  their  substance  and  practical 
bearings,  I  remember  perfectly. 

Continuing  to  speak,  and  releasing  Andrews  from  his 
regard  for  a  moment,  Mr.  Bird  said  :  "  I  want  a  vote  on 
this  question.  I  desire  that  you  all  vote  with  perfect 
freedom.  If  you  are  not  thoroughly  convinced  that  I 
am  right  in  this  matter,  I  wish  you  to  vote  against  me. 
Now  all  those  boys  who  believe  it  to  be  an  honorabh* 
thing  to  report  the  persistently  bad  conduct  of  a  school 
mate  will  rise  and  stand." 

Every  boy  except  Andrews  rose,  and  with  head  erect 
stood  squarely  upon  his  feet.  The  culprit  looked  from 
side  to  side  with  a  sneer  upon  his  lip,  that  hardened  into 
the  old  curl  of  defiance  as  he  turned  his  eyes  upon  Mr. 
Bird's  face  again. 

"  Very  well,"  said  Mr.  Bird,  "  now  sit  down,  and  re 
member  that  you  are  making  rules  for  the  government 
of  yourselves.  This  question  is  settled  for  this  term, 
and  there  is  to  be  no  complaint  hereafter  about  what  you 
boys  call  '  telling  on  one  another.'  I  do  not  wish  you 
to  come  to  me  as  tattlers.  Indeed,  I  do  not  wish  you  to 
come  to  me  at  all.  If  any  boy  does  a  wrong  which  I 
ought  to  know,  you  are  simply  to  tell  him  to  report  to 
me  what  he  has  done,  and  if  he  and  I  cannot  settle  the 
matter  together  I  will  call  upon  you  to  help  us.  There 
will  be  frictions  and  vexations  among  forty  boys  ;  I 
know  that,  and  about  these  I  wish  to  hear  nothing.  Set 
tle  these  matters  among  yourselves.  Be  patient  and* 
good-natured  with  each  other  ;  but  all  those  things  that 
interfere  with  the  order,  purity,  and  honor  of  the  school 


8o  Arthur  Bonnicastle. 

— all  those  things  that  refuse  to  be  corrected — must  be 
reported.  I  think  we  understand  one  another.  The 
school  is  never  to  suffer  in  order  to  save  the  exposure 
and  punishment  of  a  wrong-doer. 

"As  for  this  boy,  who  has  offended  the  school  so 
grossly  and  shown  so  defiant  a  spirit,  I  propose,  with  the 
private  assistance  of  the  boys  who  have  testified  against 
him,  to  make  out  a  literal  report  of  his  foul  language 
and  forward  it  to  his  mother,  while  at  the  same  time  I 
put  him  into  the  stage-coach  and  send  him  home." 

It  was  a  terrible  judgment,  and  I  can  never  forget  the 
passion  depicted  upon  Andrews'  face  as  he  compre 
hended  it.  He  seemed  like  one  paralyzed. 

"  Every  boy,"  said  Mr.  Bird,  "who  is  in  favor  of  this 
punishment  will  hold  up  his  right  hand." 

Two  or  three  hands  started  to  go  up  among  the  smaller 
boys,  but  as  their  owners  saw  that  they  had  no  support, 
they  were  drawn  down  again.  Four  or  five  of  the  boys 
were  in  tears,  and  dear  Mr.  Bird's  eyes  were  full.  He 
gathered  at  a  glance  the  meaning  of  the  scene,  and  was 
much  moved.  "Well,  Tom  Kendrick,  you  were  the 
first  to  testify  against  him  ;  what  have  you  to  say  against 
this  punishment  ?  " 

Tom  rose  with  his  lips  trembling,  and  every  nerve  full 
of  excitement.  "  Please,  sir,"  said  Tom,  "  I  should  like 
to  have  you  give  Andrews  another  chance.  I  think  it's 
an  awful  thing  to  send  a  boy  home  without  giving  him 
more  than  one  chance." 

Tom  sat  down  and  blew  his  nose  very  loud,  as  a  meas 
ure  of  relief. 

I  watched  Andrews  with  eager  eyes  during  the  closing 
passages  of  his  trial.  When  Tom  rose  on  behalf  of  the 
whole  school  to  plead  for  him — that  he  might  have  one 
more  chance — the  defiant  look  faded  from  his  face,  and 
he  gave  a  convulsive  gulp  as  if  his  heart  had  risen  to  his 
throat  and  he  were  struggling  to  keep  it  down.  When 


Arthur  Bonnicastle.  Si 

Tom  sat  down,  Andrews  rose  upon  his  feet  and  staggered 
and  hesitated  for  a  moment  ;  then,  overcome  by  shame, 
grief  and  gratitude,  he  ran  rather  than  walked  to  where 
Mrs.  Bird  was  sitting  near  her  husband,  and  with  a  wild 
burst  of  hysterical  sobbing  threw  himself  upon  his  knees, 
and  buried  his  face  in  the  dear  motherly  lap  that  had 
comforted  so  many  boyish  troubles  before.  The  appeal 
from  man  to  woman — from  justice  to  mercy — moved  by 
the  sympathy  of  the  boys,  was  the  most  profoundly 
touching  incident  I  had  ever  witnessed,  and  I  wept  al 
most  as  heartily  as  did  Andrews  himself.  In  truth,  I  do 
not  think  there  was  a  dry  eye  in  the  room. 

"  Tom,"  said  Mr.  Bird,  "  I  think  you  are  right.  You 
have  helped  me,  and  helped  us  all.  The  lad  ought  to 
have  another  chance,  and  he  shall  have  one  if  he  desires 
it.  The  rest  of  this  matter  you  can  safely  leave  to  Mrs. 
Bird  and  myself.  Now  remember  that  this  is  never  to 
be  alluded  to.  If  the  lad  remains  and  does  right,  or 
tries  to  do  right,  he  is  to  be  received  and  cherished  by 
you  all.  No  one  of  us  is  so  perfect  that  he  does  not  need 
the  charity  of  his  fellows.  If  Andrews  has  bad  habits, 
you  must  help  him  to  overcome  them.  Be  brothers  to 
him  in  all  your  future  intercourse,  as  you  have  been  here 
to-day  ;  and  as  we  have  had  business  enough  for  one 
family  meeting,  you  may  pass  out  and  leave  him  with  us." 

"  Gorry  !  "  exclaimed  Jack  Linton,  wiping  his  eyes 
and  wringing  his  handkerchief  as  he  left  the  door, 
"wasn't  that  a  freshet?  Wettest  time  I  ever  saw  in 
.Hillsborough." 

But  the  boys  were  not  in  a  jesting  mood,  and  Jack's 
drolleries  were  not  received  with  the  usual  favor.  Every 
thoughtful  and  sympathetic  lad  retired  with  a  tableau  on 
his  memory  never  to  be  forgotten — a  benignant  man 
looking  tearfully  and  most  affectionately  upon  him,  and 
a  sweet-faced,  large-hearted  woman  pillowing  in  her  lap 
the  head  of  a  kneeling  boy,  whose  destiny  for  all  the 
4* 


82  Arthur  Bonnicastle. 

untold  and  ungucssed  ages  was  to  be  decided  there  and 
then. 

It  was  more  than  an  hour  before  we  saw  anything  of 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Bird.  When  they  issued  from  their  retire 
ment  they  were  accompanied  by  a  boy  who  was  as  great 
a  stranger  to  himself  as  he  was  to  the  school.  Conquered 
and  humbled,  looking  neither  to  the  right  nor  the  left, 
he  sought  his  room,  and  none  of  us  saw  his  face  until  the 
school  was  called  together  on  Monday  morning.  His 
food  was  borne  to  his  room  by  Mrs.  Bird,  who  in  her 
own  way  counselled  and  comforted  him,  and  prepared 
him  to  encounter  his  new  relations  with  the  institution. 
The  good,  manly  hearts  of  the  boys  never  manifested 
their  quality  more  strikingly  than  when  they  uridertook 
on  Monday  to  help  Andrews  into  his  new  life.  The  ob 
stacles  were  all  taken  out  of  his  path — obstacles  which 
his  own  spirit  and  life  had  planted — and  without  a  taunt, 
or  a  slight,  or  a  manifestation  of  revenge  in  any  form,  he 
was  received  into  the  brotherhood. 

On  Monday  evening  we  were  somewhat  surprised  to 
see  him  appear,  dressed  in  his  best,  his  hands  nicely 
gloved,  making  his  way  across  the  village  green.  No 
one  questioned  him,  and  all  understood  the  case  as  he 
turned  in  at  the  gate  which  led  to  the  home  of  the  vil 
lage  minister. 

When  any  lad  had  behaved  in  an  unseemly  manner  at 
church,  it  was  Mr.  Bird's  habit  to  compel  him  to  dress 
himself  for  a  call,  and  visit  the  pastor  with  an  apology 
for  his  conduct.  "It  is  not  a  punishment,  my  boy," 
Mr.  Bird  used  to  say,  "  but  it  is  what  one  gentleman 
owes  to  another.  Any  boy  who  so  far  forgets  his  man 
ners  as  to  behave  improperly  in  the  presence  of  a  clergy 
man  whose  ministration  he  is  attending  owes  him  an 
apology,  if  he  proposes  to  be  considered  a  gentleman  ; 
and  he  must  make  it,  or  he  cannot  associate  with  me  or 
my  school." 


Arthur  Bonnicastie.  83 

In  this  case  he  had  made  conformity  to  his  rule  a  test 
of  the  genuineness  of  the  boy's  penitence,  and  a  trial  of 
his  newly  professed  loyalty.  The  trial  was  a  severe  one, 
but  the  result  gratified  all  the  boys  as  much  as  it  did 
dear  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Bird. 

I  was  very  much  excited  by  the  exposure  of  Andrews, 
and  put  a  good  many  serious  questions  to  myself  in  re 
gard  to  my  own  conduct.  The  closing  portion  of  the 
Sunday  evening  on  which  the  event  occurred  was  spent 
by  several  boys  and  myself  in  our  rooms.  We  were  so 
near  each  other  that  we  could  easily  converse  through 
the  open  doors,  and  I  was  full  of  questions. 

"  What  do  you  think  Mr.  Bird  will  do  with  Andrews  ? " 
I  inquired  of  Jack  Linton. 

"  Oh,  nothing  :  he's  squelched,"  said  Jack. 

"  I  should  think  he  would  punish  him,"  I  said,  "  for 
I  know  Mr.  Bird  was  angry." 

"  Yes,"  responded  Jack,  "  the  old  fellow  fires  up  some 
times  like  everything  ;  but  you  can't  flail  a  boy  when  he's 
got  his  head  in  a  woman's  lap,  can  you,  you  little  coot?" 

"  That's  the  way  my  mother  always  flailed  me,  any 
way,"  I  said,  at  which  Jack  and  all  the  boys  gave  a  great 
laugh. 

"  Flailing,"  said  Jack,  taking  up  a  moralizing  strain, 
when  the  laugh  was  over,  "  don't  pay.  The  last  school 
I  went  to  before  I  came  here  was  full  of  no  end  of  flail 
ing.  There  gets  to  be  a  sort  of  sameness  about  it  after 
a  while.  Confound  that  old  ruler !  I  used  to  get  it 
about  every  day — three  or  four  whacks  on  a  fellow's 
hand  ;  first  it  stung  and  then  it  was  numb  ;  and  it  always 
made  me  mad,  or  else  I  didn't  care.  There  isn't  quite 
so  much  sameness  about  a  raw-hide,  for  sometimes  you 
catch  it  on  your  legs  and  sometimes  on  your  shoulders, 
"nit  there  gets  to  be  a  sort  of  sameness  about  that  too. 
But  here  in  this  school  !  My  !  You  never  know  what's 
coming.  Say,  boys,  do  you  remember  that  clay  when  ! 


84  Arthur  Bonnicastle. 

was  making  such  a  row  out  in  the  yard,  how  Mr.  Bird 
made  me  take  a  fish-horn,  and  blow  it  at  each  corner  of 
the  church  on  the  green  ?  " 

The  boys  laughed,  and  Henry  Hulm  said  :  "  Yes, 
Jack,  but  you  liked  that  better  than  that  other  punish 
ment  when  he  sent  you  out  into  the  grove  to  yell  for 
three-quarters  of  an  hour." 

"  I'll  bet  I  did,"  responded  Jack.  "  I  got  so  hoarse 
that  time  I  couldn't  speak  the  truth  for  a  week,  but 
that's  enough  better  than  meditating.  If  there's  any 
thing  I  hate  it's  meditating  on  my  misdemeanors  and 
things,  kneeling  before  a  tree  by  the  side  of  the  road, 
like  a  great  heathen  luny.  I  suppose  half  the  people 
thought  I  was  praying  like  an  old  Pharisee.  Gorry  !  If 
the  minister  had  found  me  there  I  believe  he'd  have 
kneeled  right  by  the  side  of  a  fellow  ;  and  wouldn't  that 
have  been  a  pretty  show !  Did  any  of  you  ever  hug  a 
tree  for  an  hour  ? " 

None  of  them  ever  did.  "  It's  awful  tiresome,"  con 
tinued  Jack,  upon  whose  punishments  Mr.  Bird  seemed 
to  have  exercised  all  his  ingenuities.  "  It's  awful  tire 
some  and  it  isn't  a  bit  interesting.  If  it  was  only  a 
birch-tree  a  fellow  might  amuse  himself  gnawing  the 
bark,  but  mine  was  a  hemlock  with  an  ant-heap  at  the 
bottom.  Oh!  I  tell  you,  my  stockings  wanted  'tending 
to  when  I  got  through  :  more  ants  in  'em  than  you  could 
count  in  a  week.  Got  a  little  exercise  out  of  it,  though — 
fighting  one  foot  with  the  other.  After  all  it's  better  than 
it  is  when  there's  so  much  sameness.  It's  tough  enough 
when  you  are  at  it,  but  it  doesn't  make  you  mad,  and  it's 
funny  to  think  of  afterward.  I  tell  you,  old  Bird " 

"Order!  Order!  Order!"  came  from  all  the  boys 
within  hearing. 

"  Well,  what's  broke  now  ?  "  inquired  Jack. 

"  There  isn't  any  Old  Bird,  in  the  establishment/ 
said  one  of  them. 


Arthur  Bonnicastle.  85 

"  Mr.  Bird,  then.  Confound  you,  you've  put  me  out, 
I  forget  what  I  was  going  to  say." 

Here  I  took  the  opportunity  to  inquire  whether  anj 
sins  of  the  boys  were  punishable  by  "  flailing." 

"  Yes,"  replied  Jack,  "  big  lying  and  tobacco.  Unless 
a  fellow  breaks  right  in  two  in  the  middle,  as  Andrews 
did  to-day,  he'd  better  make  his  will  before  he  does  any 
thing  with  either  of  'em.  Old  Bird — Mr.  Bird,  I  mean 
— don't  stand  the  weakest  sort  of  a  cigar  ;  and  look  here, 
Arthur  Bonnicastle "  (suddenly  turning  to  me),  "you're 
a  little  blower,  and  you'd  better  hold  up.  If  you  don't, 
you'll  find  out  whether  there's  any  flailing  done  here." 

The  conversation  went  on,  but  I  had  lost  my  interest 
in  it.  The  possibility  of  being  punished  filled  me  with  a 
vague  alarm.  It  was  the  first  time  I  had  ever  been 
characterized  as  "  a  little  blower,"  but  my  sober  and 
conscientious  chum  had  plainly  told  me  of  my  fault, 
and  I  knew  that  many  statements  which  I  had  made 
during  my  short  stay  in  the  school  would  not  bear  ex 
amination.  I  resolved  within  myself  that  I  would  re 
form,  but  the  next  day  I  forgot  my  resolution,  and  the 
next,  and  the  next,  until,  as  I  afterward  learned,  my 
words  were  good  for  nothing  among  the  boys  as  vouchers 
for  the  truth.  I  received  my  correction  in  due  time,  as 
rny  narrative  will  show. 

My  readers  will  have  seen  already  that  The  Bird's 
Nest  was  not  very  much  like  other  schools,  though  I 
rind  it  difficult  to  choose  from  the  great  variety  of  inci 
dents  with  which  my  memory  is  crowded  those  which 
will  best  illustrate  its  peculiarities.  The  largest  liberty 
was  given  to  us,  and  we  were  simply  responsible  for  the 
manner  in  which  we  used  it.  We  had  the  fi'eedom  of 
Jong  distances  of  road  and  wide  spaces  of  field  and 
forest.  Indeed,  there  was  no  limit  fixed  to  our  wander 
ings,  except  the  limit  of  time.  There  were  no  feuds  be 
tween  the  town-boys  and  the  school.  It  was  not  uncom- 


86  Arthur  Bonnicastle. 

mon  to  see  them  at  our  receptions,  and  everybody  in 
Hillsborough  was  glad  when  The  Bird's  Nest  was  full. 

During  the  first  week  of  my  active  study  I  got  very 
tired,  and  after  the  violent  exercise  of  the  play-ground  I 
often  found  myself  so  much  oppressed  by  the  desire  for 
sleep  that  it  was  simply  impossible  for  me  to  hold  up  my 
head.  It  was  on  one  such  occasion  that  my  sleepy  eyes 
caught  the  wide-awake  glance  of  Mr.  Bird,  and  the 
beckoning  motion  of  his  finger.  I  went  to  his  side,  and 
he  lifted  me  to  his  knee.  Pillowing  my  head  upon  his 
broad  breast,  I  went  to  sleep  ;  and  thus  holding  me  with 
his  strong  arm  he  went  on  with  the  duties  of  the  school. 
Afterward,  when  similarly  oppressed,  or  when  languid 
with  indisposition,  I  sought  the  same  resting-place  many 
times,  and  was  never  refused.  A  scene  like  this  was  not 
an  uncommon  one.  It  stirred  neither  surprise  nor  mirth 
among  the  boys.  It  fitted  into  the  life  of  the  family  so 
naturally  that  it  never  occasioned  remark. 

It  must  have  been  three  weeks  or  a  month  after  I 
entered  the  school  that,  on  a  rainy  holiday,  as  I  was 
walking  through  one  of  the  halls  alone,  I  was  met  by  two 
boys  who  ordered  me  peremptorily  to  "  halt."  Both 
had  staves  in  their  hands,  taller  than  themselves,  and 
one  of  them  addressed  me  with  the  words  :  "  Arthur 
Bonnicastle,  you  are  arrested  in  the  name  of  The  High 
Society  of  Inquiry,  and  ordered  to  appear  before  that 
august  tribunal,  to  answer  for  your  sins  and  misdemean 
ors.  Right  about  face  !  " 

The  movement  had  so  much  the  air  of  mystery  and 
romance  that  I  was  about  equally  pleased  and  scared. 
Marching  between  the  two  officials,  I  was  led  directly  to 
my  own  room,  which  I  was  surprised  to  find  quite  full  of 
boys,  all  of  whom  were  grave  and  silent.  I  looked  from 
one  to  another,  puzzled  beyond  expression,  the  ugh  I  am 
sure  I  preserved  an  unruffled  manner,  and  a  confident 
and  even  smiling  face.  Indeed,  I  supposed  it  to  be  some 


Arthur  Bonnicastle.  87 

sort  of  a  lark,  entered  upon  for  passing  away  the  time 
while  confined  to  the  house. 

"  We  have  secured  the  offender,"  said  one  of  my  cap 
tors,  "  and  now  have  the  satisfaction  of  presenting  him 
before  this  honorable  Society." 

"  The  prisoner  will  stand  in  the  middle  of  the  room, 
and  look  at  me,"  said  the  presiding  officer,  in  a  tone  of 
dignified  severity. 

1  was  accordingly  marched  into  the  middle  of  the 
room  and  left  alone,  where  I  stood  with  folded  arms,  as 
became  the  grand  occasion. 

"  Arthur  Bonnicastle,"  said  the  officer  before  men 
tioned,  "  you  are  brought  before  The  High  Society  of 
Inquiry  on  a  charge  of  telling  so  many  lies  that  no  de 
pendence  whatever  can  be  placed  upon  your  words. 
What  have  you  to  reply  to  this  charge.  Are  you  guilty 
or  not  guilty  ?  " 

"I  am  not  guilty.  Who  says  I  am?"  I  exclaimed 
indignantly. 

"  Henry  Hulm,  advance  !  "  said  the  officer. 

Henry  rose,  and,  walking  by  me,  took  a  position  near 
the  officer,  at  the  head  of  the  room. 

"  Henry  Hulm,  you  will  look  upon  the  prisoner  and 
tell  the  Society  whether  you  know  him." 

"  I  know  him  well.     He  is  my  chum,"  replied  Henry. 

"  What  is  his  general  character  ?  " 

"  He  is  bright  and  very  amiable." 

"  Do  you  consider  him  a  boy  of  truth  and  veracity  ?  " 

"  I  do  not." 

"  Has  he  deceived  you  ? "  inquired  the  officer.  "  If  he 
has,  please  to  state  the  occasion  and  circumstances." 

"  No,  your  honor.  He  has  never  deceived  me.  I 
always  know  when  he  lies  and  when  he  speaks  the 
truth." 

"  Have  you  ever  told  him  of  his  crimes,  and  warned 
him  to  desist  from  them  ?  " 


88  Arthur  Bonnicastle. 

"  I  have,"  replied  Henry,  "  many  times." 

"  Has  he  shown  any  disposition  to  mend  ?  " 

"  None  at  all,  your  honor." 

"  What  is  the  character  of  his  falsehood  ?" 

"  He  tells,"  replied  Henry,  "  stunning  stories  about 
himself.  Great  things  are  always  happening  to  him, 
and  he  is  always  performing  the  most  wonderful  deeds." 

I  now  began  with  great  shame  and  confusion  to  realize 
that  I  was  to  be  exposed  to  ridicule.  The  tears  came 
into  my  eyes  and  dropped  from  my  cheeks,  but  I  would 
not  yield  to  the  impulse  either  to  cry  or  to  attempt  to 
fly. 

"  Will  you  give  us  some  specimens  of  his  stories  ?  " 
said  the  officer. 

"  I  will,"  responded  Henry,  "  but  I  can  do  it  best  by 
asking  him  questions." 

"  Very  well,"  said  the  officer,  with  a  polite  bow. 
"  Pursue  the  course  you  think  best." 

"  Arthur,"  said  Henry,  addressing  me  directly,  "  did 
you  ever  tell  me  that,  when  you  and  your  father  were  on 
the  way  to  this  school,  your  horse  went  so  fast  that  he 
ran  down  a  black  fox  in  the  middle  of  the  road,  and  cut 
off  his  tail  with  the  wheel  of  the  chaise,  and  that  you 
sent  that  tail  home  to  one  of  your  sisters  to  wear  in  her 
winter  hat  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  did,"  I  responded,  with  my  face  flaming  and 
painful  with  shame. 

"  And  did  your  said  horse  really  run  down  said  fox  in 
the  middle  of  said  road,  and  cut  off  said  tail  ;  and  did 
you  send  home  said  tail  to  said  sister  tc  be  worn  in  said 
hat  ?  "  inquired  the  judge,  with  a  low,  grum  voice.  "  The 
prisoner  will  answer  so  that  all  can  hear." 

"  No,"  I  replied,  and,  looking  for  some  justification  of 
my  story,  I  added  :  "  but  I  did  see  a  black  fox — a  real 
black  fox,  as  plain  as  day  !  " 

"Oh!    Oh!    Oh!"    ran  around  the  room  irl  chorus 


Artlinr  Bonnicastle,  89 

"  He  did  see  a  black  fox,  a  real  black  fox,  as  plain  as 
day  !  " 

"  The  witness  will  pursue  his  inquiries,"  said  the  offi 
cer. 

"  Arthur,"  Henry  continued,  "  did  you  or  did  you  not 
tell  me  that  when  on  the  way  to  this  school  you  overtook 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Bird  in  their  wagon,  that  you  were  invited 
into  the  wagon  by  Mrs.  Bird,  and  that  one  of  Mr.  Bird's 
horses  chased  a  calf  on  the  road,  caught  it  by  the  ear 
and  tossed  it  over  the  fence  and  broke  its  leg  ?  " 

"  I  s'pose  I  did,"  I  said,  growing  desperate. 

"  And  did  said  horse  really  chase  said  calf,  and  catch 
him  by  said  ear,  and  toss  him  over  said  fence,  and  break 
said  leg  ?  "  inquired  the  officer. 

"  He  didn't  catch  him  by  the  ear,"  I  replied  doggedly, 
"  but  he  really  did  chase  a  calf." 

"Oh!  Oh!  Oh!"  chimed  in  the  chorus.  "He 
didn't  catch  him  by  the  ear,  but  he  really  did  chase  a 
calf!" 

"  Witness,"  said  the  officer,  "  you  will  pursue  your 
inquiries." 

"Arthur,  did  you  or  did  you  not  tell  me,"  Henry 
went  on,  "  that  you  have  an  old  friend  who  is  soon  to  go 
to  sea,  and  that  he  has  promised  to  bring  you  a  male 
and  female  monkey,  a  male  and  female  bird  of  paradise, 
a  barrel  of  pineapples,  and  a  Shetland  pony?  " 

"  It  doesn't  seem  as  if  I  told  you  exactly  that,"  I  re 
plied. 

"  Did  you  or  did  you  not  tell  him  so  ?  "  said  the  offi 
cer,  severely. 

"  Perhaps  I  did,"  I  responded. 

"  And  did  said  friend,  who  is  soon  to  go  to  said  sea, 
really  promise  to  bring  you  said  monkeys,  said  birds  of 
paradise,  said  pineapples,  and  said  pony  ?" 

"No,"  I  replied,  "  but  I  really  have  an  old  friend  who  is 
going  to  sea,  and  he'll  bring  me  anything  I  ask  him  to." 


po  Arthur  Bonnicastlc. 

"  Oh  !  Oh  !  Oh  !  "  swept  round  the  room  again.  "  He 
really  has  an  old  friend  who  is  going  to  sea,  and  he'll 
bring  him  anything  he  asks  him  to." 

"  Hulm,  proceed  with  your  inquiries,"  said  the  officer. 

"  Did  you  or  did  you  not,"  said  Henry,  turning  to  me 
again,  "  tell  me  that  one  day,  when  dining  at  your 
Aunt's,  you  saw  a  magic  portrait  of  a  boy  upon  the  wall, 
that  came  and  went,  and  came  and  went,  like  a  shadow 
or  a  ghost  ?  " 

As  Henry  asked  this  question  he  stood  between  two 
windows,  while  the  lower  portion  of  his  person  was  hid 
den  by  a  table  behind  which  he  had  retired.  His  face 
was  lighted  by  a  half  smile,  and  I  saw  him  literally  in  a 
frame,  as  I  had  first  seen  the  picture  to  which  he  al 
luded.  In  a  moment  I  became  oblivious  to  everything 
around  me  except  Henry's  face.  The  portrait  was  there 
again  before  my  eyes.  Every  lineament  and  even  the 
peculiar  pose  of  the  head  were  recalled  to  me.  I  was 
so  much  excited  that  it  really  seemed  as  if  I  were  look 
ing  again  upon  the  picture  I  had  seen  in  Mrs.  Sander 
son's  dining-room.  Henry  was  disconcerted,  and  even 
distressed  by  my  intent  look.  He  was  evidently  afraid 
that  the  matter  had  been  carried  too  far,  and  that  I  was 
growing  wild  with  the  strange  excitement.  Endeavor 
ing  to  recall  me  to  myself,  he  said  in  a  tone  of  friendli 
ness  : 

"  Did  you  or  did  you  not  tell  me  the  story  about  the 
portrait,  Arthur  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  I  responded,  "  and  it  looked  just  like  you. 
Oh  !  it  did,  it  did,  it  did  !  There — turn  your  head  a  lit 
tle  more  that  way — so  !  It  was  a  perfect  picture  of  you, 
Henry.  You  never  could  imagine  such  a  likeness." 

"  You  are  a  little  blower,  you  are,"  volunteered  Jack 
Linton,  from  a  corner. 

"  Order  !  Order  !  Order  !  "  swept  around  the  room 

"Did  said  portrait,"  broke  in  the  voice  of  the  officer, 


ArtJiur  Bonnicastle.  91 

"  come  and  go  on  said  wall,  like  said  shadow  or  said 
ghost  ?  " 

"  It  went  but  it  didn't  come,"  I  replied,  with  my  eyes 
still  fixed  on  Henry. 

"  Oh  !  Oh!  Oh  !  "  resumed  the  chorus.  "  It  went  but 
it  didn't  come  !  " 

"  Please  stand  still,  Henry  !  don't  stir  !  "  I  said.  "  I 
want  to  go  nearer  to  it.  She  wouldn't  let  me." 

I  crept  slowly  toward  him,  my  arms  still  folded.  He 
grew  pale,  and  all  the  room  became  still.  The  presid 
ing  officer  and  the  members  of  The  High  Society  of  In 
quiry  were  getting  scared.  "  It  went  but  it  didn't  come," 
I  said.  "  This  one  comes  but  it  doesn't  go.  I  should 
like  to  kiss  it." 

I  put  out  my  hands  toward  Henry,  and  he  sank  down 
behind  the  table  as  if  a  ghost  were  about  to  touch  him. 
The  illusion  was  broken,  and  I  started  as  if  awakened 
suddenly  from  a  dream.  Looking  around  upon  the 
boys,  and  realizing  what  had  been  done  and  what  was 
in  progress,  I  went  into  a  fit  of  hearty  crying,  that  dis 
tressed  them  quite  as  much  as  my  previous  mood  had 
done.  Nods  and  winks  passed  from  one  to  another, 
and  Hulm  was  told  that  no  further  testimony  was 
needed.  They  were  evidently  in  a  hurry  to  conclude 
the  case,  and  felt  themselves  cut  short  in  their  forms 
of  proceeding.  At  this  moment  a  strange  silence 
seized  the  assembly.  All  eyes  were  directed  toward 
the  door,  upon  which  my  back  was  turned.  I  wheeled 
around  to  find  the  cause  of  the  interruption.  There, 
in  the  doorway  towering  above  us  all,  and  looking 
questioningly  down  upon  the  little  assembly,  stood  Mr. 
Bird. 

"  What  does  this  mean  ?  "  inquired  the  master. 

I  flew  to  his  side  and  took  his  hand.  The  officer  who 
had  presided,  being  the  largest  boy,  explained  that  they 
had  been  trying  to  break  Arthur  Bonnicastle  of  lying, 


92  ArtJuir  Bonnicastle. 

and  that  they  were  about  to  order  him  to  report  to  the 
master  for  confession  and  correction. 

Then  Mr.  Bird  took  a  chair  and  patiently  heard  the 
whole  story. 

Without  a  reproach,  further  than  saying  that  he 
thought  me  much  too  young  for  experiments  of  the  kind 
they  had  instituted  in  the  case,  he  explained  to  them 
and  to  me  the  nature  of  my  misdemeanors. 

"  The  boy  has  a  great  deal  of  imagination,"  he  said, 
"and  a  strong  love  of  approbation.  Somebody  has 
flattered  his  power  of  invention,  probably,  and,  to  se 
cure  admiration,  he  has  exercised  it  until  he  has  ac 
quired  the  habit  of  exaggeration.  I  doubt  whether  the 
lad  has  done  much  that  was  consciously  wrong.  It  is 
more  a  fault  of  constitution  and  character  than  a  sin  of 
the  will ;  and  now  that  he  sees  that  he  does  not  win  ad 
miration  by  telling  that  which  is  not  true,  he  will  be 
come  truthful.  I  am  glad  if  he  has  learned,  even  by 
the  severe  means  which  have  been  used,  that  if  he 
wishes  to  be  loved  and  admired  he  must  always  tell  the 
exact  truth,  neither  more  nor  less.  If  you  had  come  to 
me,  I  could  have  told  you  all  about  the  lad,  and  insti 
tuted  a  better  mode  of  dealing  with  him.  He  has  been 
through  some  sudden  changes  of  late  that  have  had  the 
natural  tendency  to  exaggerate  his  fault.  But  I  venture 
to  say  that  he  is  cured.  Aren't  you,  Arthur?  "  And  he 
stooped  and  lifted  me  to  his  face  and  looked  into  my 
eyes. 

"  I  don't  think  I  shall  do  it  any  more,"  I  said. 

Bidding  the  boys  disperse,  he  carried  me  down-stairs 
into  his  own  room,  and  charged  me  with  kindly  counsel. 
I  went  out  from  the  interview  humbled  and  without  a 
revengeful  thought  in  my  heart  toward  the  boys  who  had 
brought  me  to  my  trial.  I  saw  that  they  were  my 
friends,  and  I  was  determined  to  prove  myself  worthy 
of  their  friendship. 


Arthur  Bonnicastlc,  93 

Jack  Linton  was  waiting  for  me  on  the  piazza,  and 
wished  to  explain  to  me  that  he  hadn't  anything  against 
me.  "  I  went  in  with  the  rest  of  'em  because  they 
wanted  me  to,"  said  Jack,  "  and  because  I  wanted  to 
see  what  it  would  be  like  ;  but  really,  now,  I  don't  ob 
ject  so  much  to  blowing  myself.  There's  a  sort  of 
sameness,  you  know,  about  always  telling  the  truth  that 
there  isn't  about  blowing,  but  it's  the  same  thing  with 
hash  and  bread  and  butter,  and  it  seems  to  be  neces 
sary." 

I  told  him  that  I  wasn't  going  to  blow  any  more,  and 
that  I  had  arranged  it  all  with  Mr.  Bird.  He  shook 
hands  with  me  and  then  stooped  down  and  whispered  : 
"  You  don't  catch  me  trying  any  High  old  Society  of  In 
quiries  on  a  chap  of  your  size  again." 

As  soon  as  I  settled  into  the  routine  of  my  school  life 
the  weeks  flew  away  so  fast  that  they  soon  got  beyond 
my  counting.  The  term  was  long,  but  I  was  happy  in 
my  study,  happy  in  my  companionships,  and  happy  in 
the  love  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Bird,  and  in  their  control  and 
direction.  I  wrote  letters  home  every  week,  and  re 
ceived  prompt  replies  from  my  father.  The  monthly 
missives  to  "My  dear  Aunt,"  were  regularly  written, 
though  I  won  no  replies  to  them.  I  learned,  however, 
that  Mr.  Bird  had  received  communications  from  her 
concerning  myself.  On  one  occasion  she  sent  her  love 
to  me  through  him,  and  he  delivered  the  message  with 
an  amused  look  in  his  eyes  that  puzzled  me. 

The  summer  months  passed  away,  and  that  great, 
mysterious  change  came  on  which  reported  the  consum 
mation  of  growth  and  maturity  in  the  processes  and 
products  of  the  year.  The  plants  that  had  toiled  all 
summer,  evolving  flower  and  fruit,  were  soothed  to 
sleep.  The  birds  stopped  singing  lest  they  should 
waken  them.  The  locusts  by  day  and  the  crickets  by 
night  crooned  their  lullaby.  A  dreamy  haze  hung 


94  Arthur  Bonnicastlc. 

around  the  distant  hills,  and  here  and  there  a  woodbine 
lighted  its  torch  in  the  darkening  dingle,  and  the  maples 
in  mellow  fire  signalled  each  other  from  hill  to  hill. 
The  year  had  begun  to  die.  There  were  chills  at  night 
and  fevers  by  day,  and  stretches  of  weird  silence  that 
impressed  me  more  profoundly  than  I  can  possibly  re 
veal.  It  was  as  if  the  angels  of  the  summer  had  fled  at 
the  first  frost,  and  the  angels  of  the  autumn  had  come 
down,  bringing  with  them  a  new  set  of  spiritual  influ 
ences  that  saddened  while  they  sweetened  every  soul 
whose  sensibilities  were  delicate  enough  to  apprehend 
and  receive  them. 

During  those  days  I  felt  my  first  twinges  of  genuine 
homesickness.  I  was  conscious  that  I  had  grown  in 
body  and  mind  during  my  brief  absence  ;  and  I  wanted 
to  show  myself  to  the  dear  ones  with  whom  I  had  passed 
my  childhood.  I  imagined  the  interest  with  which  they 
would  listen  to  the  stories  of  my  life  at  school  ;  and  I 
had  learned  enough  of  the  world  already  to  know  that 
there  was  no  love  so  sweet  and  strong  as  that  which  my 
home  held  for  me.  'I  had  been  made  glad  by  my  fa 
ther's  accounts  of  his  modest  prosperity.  Work  had 
been  plenty  and  the  pay  was  sure  and  sufficient.  The 
family  had  been  reclothed,  and  new  and  needed  articles 
of  furniture  had  been  purchased. 

I  wrote  to  Mrs.  Sanderson  and  asked  the  privilege  of 
going  home  to  spend  my  vacation,  and  through  my  fa 
ther's  letters  I  learned  that  she  would  send  for  me.  A 
week  or  more  before  the  close  of  the  term  I  received  a 
note  addressed  to  me  in  a  handwriting  gone  to  wreck 
through  disuse,  from  old  Jenks.  If  I  were  to  character 
ize  the  orthography  in  which  it  was  clothed,  I  should 
say  it  was  eminently  strong.  I  do  not  suppose  it  \vas 
intended  to  be  blank  verse,  but  it  was  arranged  in  dis 
connected  lines,  and  read  thus  : 


Arthur  Bonnicastle.  95 

"  Bring  home  your  Attlus. 

"  I  stere  boldly  for  the  Troppicks. 

"  Desk  and  cumpusses  in  the  stable. 

"  When  this  you  see  burn  this  when  this  you  see. 

"  The  sea  rolls  away  and  thare  is  no  old  wooman  thare. 

"Where  the  spisy  breazes  blow. 

"  I  shall  come  for  you  with  the  Shaze. 

"  From  an  old  Tarr 

"  THEOPHILUS  JENKS." 

This  unique  document  was  not  committed  to  th* 
flames,  according  to  the  directions  of  the  writer.  It 
was  much  too  precious  for  such  a  destiny,  and  was  care 
fully  laid  away  between  the  leaves  of  my  Testament,  to 
be  revealed  in  this  later  time. 

The  last  evening  of  the  term  was  devoted  to  a  recep 
tion.  Many  parents  of  the  boys  who  had  come  to  take 
their  darlings  home  were  present ;  and  sitting  in  the  re 
motest  corner  of  the  dancing-room,  shrunken  into  the 
smallest  space  it  was  possible  for  him  to  occupy,  was 
old  Jenks,  gazing  enchanted  upon  such  a  scene  as  had 
never  feasted  his  little  gray  eyes  before.  I  had  learned 
to  dance,  in  a  boy's  rollicking  fashion,  and  during  the 
whole  evening  tried  to  show  off  my  accomplishments 
to  my  old  friend.  One  after  another  I  led  ladies — 
middle-aged  and  young — to  the  floor,  and  discharged 
the  courtesies  of  the  time  with  all  the  confidence  of  a 
man  of  society.  Occasionally  I  went  -to  his  side  and 
asked  him  how  he  liked  it. 

"  It's  great— it's  tremenduous,"  said  Jenks.  "  How  do 
you  dare  to  do-  it — eh  ?  say  !  "  said  he,  drawing  me  down 
to  him  by  the  lappel  of  my  coat  :  "  I've  been  thinking 
ho\v  I'd  like  to  have  the  old  woman  on  the  floor,  and  see 
her  tumble  down  once.  I  ain't  no  dancer,  you  know, 
but  I'd  dance  a  regular  break-down  over  her  before  I 
picked  her  up  and  set  her  on  her  pins  again.  Wouldn't 
it  be  fun  to  see  her  get  up  mad,  and  limp  off  into  c  cor- 


96  Arthur  Bonnicastle. 

I  laughed  at  Jenks's  fancy,  and  asked  him  what  he 
thought  of  the  last  lady  I  danced  with. 

"  She's  a  beauty,"  said  Jenks.  "  I  should  like  to  sail 
with  her — just  sit  and  hold  her  hand  and  sail — sail  away, 
and  keep  sailing  and  sailing  and  sailing." 

"  I'm  glad  you  like  her,"  I  said,  "  for  that  is  my  lady 
love.  That's  Miss  Butler." 

"You  don't  say!"  exclaimed  Jenks.  "Well,  you 
don't  mind  what  I  say,  do  you  ?  " 

"  Oh  no,"  I  said,  "  you're  too  old  for  her." 

"  Well,  yes,  perhaps  I  am,  but  isn't  she  just — isn't 
she  rather — that  is,  isn't  she  a  bit  too  old  for  you  ?  " 

"  I  shall  be  old  enough  for  her  by  and  by,"  I  replied. 

"  Well,  don't  take  to  heart  anything  I  say,"  re 
sponded  Jenks.  "  I  was  only  talking  about  sailing,  any 
way.  My  mind  is  on  the  sea  a  good  deal,  you  know. 
Now  you  go  on  with  your  dancing,  and  don't  mind  me." 

The  next  morning  there  were  all  sorts  of  vehicles  at 
the  door.  There  were  calls  and  farewells  and  kisses, 
and  promises  to  write,  and  hurrahs,  and  all  the  inci 
dents  and  excitements  of  breaking  up.  With  a  dozen 
kisses  warm  upon  my  cheeks,  from  teachers  and  friends, 
I  mounted  the  chaise,  and  Jenks  turned  the  old  horse 
toward  home. 

I  suppose  the  world  would  not  be  greatly  interested  in 
the  conversation  between  the  old  servant  and  the  boy 
who  that  day  drove  from  Hillsborough  to  Bradford. 
Jenks  had  been  much  moved  by  the  scenes  of  the  pre 
vious  evening,  and  his  mind,  separated  somewhat  from 
the  sea,  out  toward  whose  billowy  freedom  it  had  been 
accustomed  to  wander,  turned  upon  women. 

"  I  think  a  woman  is  a  tremenduous  being,"  said  Jenks. 
"  When  she's  right,  she's  the  rightest  thing  that  floats. 
When  she's  wrong,  she's  the  biggest  nuisance  that 
ploughs  the  sea,  even  if  she's  little  and  don't  draw  two 
feet  of  water.  Perhaps  it  isn't  just  the  thing  to  say  to  a 


Arthur  Bonnicastle.  97 

ooy  like  you,  but  you'll  never  speak  of  it,  if  I  should  tell 
you  a  little  something  ?  " 

"  Oh,  never  !  "  I  assured  him. 

"  Well,  I  'spose  I  might  have  been  a'married  man  ;  " 
and  Jenks  avoided  my  eyes  by  pretending  to  discover  a 
horse-shoe  in  the  road. 

"  You  don't  say  so  !  "  I  exclaimed  in  undisguised  as 
tonishment,  for  it  had  never  occurred  to  me  that  such  a 
man  as  Jenks  could  marry. 

"  Yes,  I  waited  on  a  girl  once." 

"  Was  she  beautiful  ?  "  I  inquired. 

"  Well,  I  should  say  fair  to  middling,"  responded 
Jenks,  pursing  his  lips  as  if  determined  to  render  a 
candid  judgment.  "  Fair  to  middling,  barring  a  few 
freckles." 

"  But  you  didn't  leave  her  for  the  freckles  ?  "  I  said. 

"  No,  I  didn't  leave  her  for  the  freckles.  She  was  a 
good  girl,  and  I  waited  on  her.  It  don't  seem  possible 
now,  that  I  ever  ra'aly  waited  on  a  girl,  but  I  did." 

"  And  why  didn't  you  marry  her  ?  "  I  inquired  warmly. 

"  It  wasn't  her  fault,"  said  Jenks.  "  She  was  a  good 
girl." 

"  Then  why  didn't  you  marry  her  ?  "  I  insisted. 

"  Well,  there  was  another  fellow  got  to  hanging  round, 
and — you  know  how  such  things  go.  I  was  busy,  and — 
didn't  'tend  up  very  well,  I  s'pose — and — she  got  tired 
waiting  for  me — or  something — and  the  other  fellow  mar 
ried  her,  but  I've  never  blamed  her.  She's  been  sorry 
enough,  I  guess." 

Jenks  gave  a  sigh  of  mingled  regret  and  pity,  and  the 
subject  was  dropped. 

The  lights  were  shining  cheerfully  in  the  windows  as 
we  drove  into  Bradford.  When  we  came  in  sight  of  my 
father's  house,  Jenks  exacted  a  pledge  from  me  that  all 
the  confidences  of  the  day  which  he  had  so  freely  re 
posed  in  me  should  never  be  divulged.  Arriving  at  the 
5 


9^  Artlinr  Bonuicastlc. 

^ate,  I  gave  a  wild  whoop,  which  brought  all  the  family 
lo  the  door,  and  in  a  moment  I  was  smothered  with 
ivelcome. 

Ah  !  what  an*  evening  was  that !  What  sad,  sweet 
tears  drop  upon  my  paper  as  I  recall  it,  and  remember 
that  every  eye  that  sparkled  with  greeting  then  ha? 
ceased  to  shine,  that  every  hand  that  grasped  mine  is 
turned  to  dust,  and  that  all  those  loving  spirits  wait 
somewhere  to  welcome  me  home  from  the  school  where 
I  have  been  kept  through  such  a  long,  eventful  term. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

I  BECOME  A  MEMBER  OF  MRS.  SANDERSON'S  FAMILY 
AND  HAVE  A  WONDERFUL  VOYAGE  WITH  JENKS  UP 
ON  THE  ATLAS. 

AT  an  early  hour  on  the  following  morning,  dressed  in 
my  best,  I  went  to  pay  my  respects  to  Mrs.  Sanderson 
at  The  Mansion.  As  I  walked  along  over  the  ground 
stiffened  with  the  autumn  frost,  wondering  how  "  my 
dear  Aunt  "would  receive  me,  it  seemed  as  if  I  had 
lived  half  a  lifetime  since  my  father  led  me  over  the 
same  road,  on  my  first  visit  to  the  same  lady.  I  felt 
older  and  larger  and  more  independent.  As  I  passed 
Mr.  Bradford's  house,  I  looked  at  the  windows,  hoping 
to  see  the  little  girl  again,  and  feeling  that  in  my  holi 
day  clothes  I  could  meet  her  eyes  unabashed.  But  she 
did  not  appear,  nor  did  I  get  a  sight  of  Mr.  Bradford. 

The  autumn  was  now  in  its  glory,  and,  as  I  reached 
the  summit  of  the  hill,  I  could  not  resist  the  temptation 
\o  pause  and  look  off  upon  the  meadows  and  the  distant 
country.  I  stood  under  a  maple,  full  of  the  tender 
light  of  lemon-colored  leaves,  while  my  feet  were  buried 


Arthur  Bonnicastlc.  99 

among  their  fallen  fellows  with  which  the  ground  Avas 
carpeted.  The  sounds  of  the  town  reached  my  ears 
mellowed  into  music  by  the  distance,  the  smoke  from  a 
hundred  chimneys  rose  straight  into  the  sky,  the  river 
was  a  mirror  for  everything  upon  it,  around  it  and  above 
it,  and  all  the  earth  was  a  garden  of  gigantic  flowers. 
For  that  one  moment  my  life  was  full.  With  perfect 
health  in  my  veins,  and  all  my  sensibilities  excited  by 
the  beauty  before  me,  my  joy  was  greater  in  living  than 
any  words  can  express.  Nothing  but  running,  or  shout 
ing,  or  singing,  or  in  some  way  violently  spending  the 
life  thus  swelled  to  its  flood,  could  give  it  fitting  utter 
ance  ;  but,  as  I  was  near  The  Mansion,  all  these  were 
denied  me,  and  I  went  on,  feeling  that  passing  out  of 
the  morning  sunlight  into  a  house  would  be  like  going 
into  a  prison.  Before  reaching  the  door  I  looked  at  the 
stable,  and  saw  the  old  horse  with  his  head  out  of  one 
window,  and  Jenks's  face  occupying  another.  Jenks  and 
the  horse  looked  at  one  another  and  nodded,  as  much 
as  to  say  :  "That  is  the  little  fellow  we  brought  over 
from  Hillsborough  yesterday." 

That  Mrs.  Sanderson  saw  me  under  the  tree,  and 
watched  every  step  of  my  progress  to  the  house,  was 
evident,  for  when  I  mounted  the  steps,  and  paused  be 
tween  the  sleeping  lions,  the  door  swung  upon  its  hinges, 
and  there  stood  the  little  old  woman  in  the  neatest  of 
morning  toilets.  She  had  expected  me,  and  had  pre 
pared  to  receive  me. 

"  And  how  is  Master  Bonnicastle  this  pleasant  morn 
ing  ?"  she  said  as  I  entered. 

I  was  prepared  to  be  led  into  any  manifestation  of  re 
spect  or  affection  which  her  greeting  might  suggest,  and 
this  cheery  and  flattering  address  moved  me  to  grasp 
both  her  hands,  and  tell  her  that  I  was  very  well  and 
very  happy.  It  did  not  move  me  to  kiss  her  or  to  ex 
pect  a  kiss  from  her.  I  had  never  been  called  "  Mas- 


JOO  Arthur  Bonnicastlc. 

ter"  Bonnicastle  before,  and  the  new  title  seemed  as  if 
it  were  intended  so  to  elevate  me  as  to  place  me  at  a 
distance. 

Retaining  one  of  my  hands,  she  conducted  me  to  a 
large  drawing-room,  into  which  she  had  admitted  the 
full  glow  of  the  morning  light,  and,  seating  me,  drew  a 
chair  near  to  me  for  herself,  where  she  could  look  me 
squarely  in  the  face.  Then  she  led  me  into  a  talk  about 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Bird,  and  my  life  at  school.  She  played 
the  part  of  a  listener  well,  and  flattered  me  by  her  little 
comments,  and  her  almost  deferential  attention.  I  do 
her  the  justice  to  believe  that  she  was  not  altogether 
playing  a  part  thoroughly  preconsidered,  for  I  think 
she  was  really  interested  and  amused.  My  presence, 
and  my  report  of  what  was  going  on  in  one  little  part 
of  the  great  world  which  was  so  far  removed  from  the 
pursuits  of  her  lonely  life,  were  refreshing  influences. 
Seeing  that  she  was  really  interested,  my  tongue  ran 
on  without  restraint,  until  I  had  told  all  I  had  to  tell. 
Many  times,  when  I  found  myself  tempted  to  exaggerate, 
I  checked  my  vagrant  speech  with  corrections  and  qual 
ifications,  determined  that  my  old  fault  should  have  no 
further  sway. 

"  Well,  my  boy,"  she  said  at  last,  in  a  tone  of  great 
kindness,  "  I  find  you  much  improved.  Now  let  us  go 
up-stairs  and  see  what  we  can  discover  there." 

I  followed  her  up  the  dark  old  stairway  into  a  cham 
ber  whose  windows  commanded  a  view  of  the  morning 
sun  and  the  town. 

"  How  lovely  this  is  !  "  I  exclaimed. 

"  You  like  it,  then  ?"  she  responded  with  a  gratified 
look. 

"  Yes,"  I  said.  "  I  think  it  is  the  prettiest  room  I  ever 
saw." 

"  Well,  Master  Bonnicastle,  this  is  your  room.  This 
new  paper  on  the  walls  and  all  this  new  furniture  I 


Arthur  Bonmcastle.  101 

bought  for  you.  Whenever  you  want  a  change  from 
your  house,  which  you  know  is  rather  small  and  not  ex 
actly  the  thing  for  a  young  gentleman  like  you,  you  will 
find  this  room  ready  for  you.  There  are  the  drawers  for 
your  linen,  and  there  is  the  closet  for  your  other  clothes, 
and  here  is  your  mirror,  and  this  is  a  pin-cushion  which 
I  have  made  for  you  with  my  own  hands." 

She  said  this,  walking  from  one  object  named  to  an 
other,  until  she  had  shown  me  all  the  appointments  of 
the  chamber. 

I  was  speechless  and  tearful  with  delight.  And  this 
was  all  mine  !  And  I  was  a  young  gentleman,  with  the 
prettiest  room  in  the  grandest  house  of  Bradford  at  my 
command  !  It  was  like  a  dream  to  me,  bred  as  I  had 
been  in  the  strait  simplicity  of  poverty.  Young  as  I  was, 
I  had  longed  for  just  this — for  something  around  me  in 
my  real  life  that  should  correspond  with  my  dreams  of 
life.  Already  the  homely  furniture  of  my  father's  house, 
and  the  life  with  which  it  was  associated,  seemed  mean 
— almost  wretched  ;  and  I  was  distressed  by  my  sym 
pathy  for  those  whom  I  should  leave  behind  in  rising  to 
my  new  estate.  By  some  strange  intuition  I  knew  that 
it  would  not  do  to  speak  to  my  benefactress  of  my  love 
for  my  father.  I  was  full  of  the  thought  that  my  love 
had  been  purchased,  and  fairly  paid  for.  I  belonged  to 
Mrs.  Sanderson.  She  who  had  expended  so  much  money 
for  me,  without  any  reward,  had  a  right  to  me,  and  all 
of  my  society  and  time  that  she  desired.  If  she  had 
asked  me  to  come  to  her  house  and  make  it  my  only 
home,  I  should  have  promised  to  do  GO  without  reserve, 
but  she  did  not  do  this.  She  was  too  wise.  She  did 
not  intend  to  exact  anything  from  me  ;  but  I  have  no 
doubt  that  she  took  the  keenest  delight  in  witnessing  the 
operation  and  consummation  of  her  plans  for  gaining  an 
ascendency  over  my  affections,  my  will,  and  my  life 
Her  revelations  produced  in  me  a  strange  disposition 


IO2  ArtJiur  Bonnicastle. 

to  silence  which  neither  she  nor  I  knew  how  to  break. 
I  was  troubled  with  the  fear  that  I  had  not  expressed 
sufficient  gratitude  for  her  kindness,  yet  1  did  not  know 
how  to  say  more.  At  length  she  said  :  "I  saw  you 
under  the  maple  :  what  were  you  thinking  about  there  ?  " 

"  I  was  wondering  if  the  world  was  not  made  in  the 
fall,"  I  replied. 

"Ah?" 

"  Yes,"  I  continued,  "  it  seemed  to  me  as  if  God  must 
have  stood  under  that  same  maple-tree,  when  the  leaves 
were  changing,  and  saw  that  it  was  all  very  good." 

With  something  of  her  old  asperity  she  said  she 
wished  my  boyish  fancies  would  change  as  well  as  the 
leaves. 

"  I  cannot  help  having  them,"  I  replied,  "  but  if  you 
don't  like  them  I  shall  never  speak  of  them  again." 

"  Now  I  tell  you  what  I  think,"  said  she  assuming  her 
pleasant  tone  again.  "  I  think  you  would  like  to  be  left 
alone  for  a  little  while." 

"  Oh!  I  should  like  to  be  alone  here  in  my  own  room 
ever  so  much  !  "  I  responded. 

"  You  can  stay  here  until  dinner  if  you  wish,"  she 
said,  ard  then  she  ijent  down  ioid  kissed  my  forehead, 
and  retired 

I  listened  as  she  descended  the  stairs,  and  when  I  felt 
that  she  was  far  enough  away,  I  rose,  and  carefully  locked 
my  door.  Then  I  went  to  the  mirror  to  see  whether  I 
knew  myself,  and  to  find  what  there  was  in  me  that  could 
be  addressed  as  "  Master,"  or  spoken  of  as  ''a  young 
gentleman."  Then  I  ransacked  the  closet,  and  climbed 
to  a  high  shelf  in  it,  with  the  vague  hope  that  the  por 
trait  which  had  once  excited  my  curiosity  was  hidden 
there.  Finding  nothing  I  had  not  previously  seen,  I  went 
to  the  window,  and  sat  down  to  think. 

I  looked  off  upon  the  town,  and  felt  myself  lifted  im 
measurably  above  it  and  all  its  plodding  cares  and  in- 


Artlntr  Bonnicastle.  103 

dustries.  This  was  mine.  It  had  been  wen  without  an 
effort.  It  had  come  to  me  without  a  thought  or  a  care. 
I  believed  there  was  not  a  boy  in  the  whole  town  who 
possessed  its  equal,  and  I  wondered  what  there  was  in 
me  that  should  call  forth  such  munificence  from  my  ben 
efactress.  If  my  good  fortune  as  a  boy  were  so  great, 
what  brilliant  future  awaited  my  manhood  ?  Then  I 
thought  of  my  father,  working  humbly  and  patiently, 
day  after  day,  for  bread  for  his  family,  and  of  the  tender 
love  which  I  knew  his  heart  held  for  me  ;  and  I  won 
dered  why  God  should  lay  so  heavy  a  burden  upon  him 
and  so  marvellously  favor  me.  Would  it  not  be  mean  to 
take  this  good  fortune  and  sell  my  love  of  him  and  of  home 
for  it  ?  Oh  !  if  I  could  only  bring  them  all  here,  to  share 
my  sweeter  lot,  I  should  be  content,  but  I  could  not  even 
speak  of  this  to  the  woman  who  had  bestowed  it  on  me. 

It  all  ended  in  a  sweet  and  hearty  fit  of  crying,  in 
which  I  sobbed  until  the  light  faded  out  of  my  eyes,  and 
I  went  to  sleep.  I  had  probably  slept  two  hours  when  a 
loud  knock  awakened  me,  and,  staggering  to  my  feet, 
and  recognizing  at  last  the  new  objects  around  me,  I 
went  to  the  door,  and  found  Jenks,  in  his  white  apron, 
who  told  me  that  dinner  was  waiting  for  me.  I  gave  a 
hurried  glance  at  the  mirror  and  was  startled  to  find  my 
eyes  still  red ;  but  I  could  not  wait.  As  he  made  way 
for  me  to  pass  down  before  him,  he  whispered  :  "  Come 
to  the  stable  as  soon  as  you  can  after  dinner.  The  atlas 
and  compasses  are  ready." 

I  remembered  then  that  he  had  borrowed  the  formei 
of  me  on  the  way  home,  and  secreted  it  under  the  seat 
of  the  chaise. 

Mrs.  Sanderson  was  already  seated  when  I  entered 
the  dining-room. 

"  Your  eyes  are  red,"  she  said  quickly. 

"  I  have  been  asleep,  I  think,"  I  responded. 

Jenks  mumbled  something,  and  commenced  growling 


IO4  Arthur  Bonnicastle. 

His  mistress  regarded  me  closely,  but  thought  best  nof 
to  push  inquiries  further. 

Conversation  did  not  promise  to  be  lively,  especially 
iu  the  presence  of  a  third  party,  between  whom  and  my 
stlf  there  existed  a  guilty  secret  which  threatened  to  sap 
the  peace  of  the  establishment. 

At  length  I  said  :  "  Oh!  I  did  not  think  to  tell  you 
anything  about  my  chum." 

"  What  is  his  name  ?  "  she  inquired. 

"  His  name  is  Henry  Hulm,"  I  replied  ;  and  then  1 
went  on  at  length  to  describe  his  good  qualities  and  to 
tell  what  excellent  friends  we  had  been.  "  He  is  not  a 
bit  like  me,"  I  said,  "  he  is  so  steady  and  quiet." 

"  Do  you  know  anything  about  his  people  ?  "  inquired 
the  lady. 

"  No,  he  never  says  anything  about  them,  and  I  am 
afraid  he  is  poor,"  I  replied. 

"  How  does  he  dress  ?  " 

"  Noc  so  well  as  I  do,  but  he  is  the  neatest  and  care- 
fullest  boy  in  the  school." 

"  Perhaps  you  would  like  to  invite  him  here  to  spend 
your  vacation  with  you,  when  you  come  home  again," 
she  suggested. 

"  May  I  ?  Can  I  ?  "  I  eagerly  inquired. 

"  Certainly.  If  he  is  a  good,  respectable  boy,  and 
you  would  like  him  for  a  companion  here,  I  should  be 
delighted  to  have  you  bring  him." 

"  Oh !  I  thank  you  :  I  am  so  glad  !  I'm  sure  he'll 
come,  and  he  can  sleep  in  my  room  with  me." 

"  That  will  please  you  very  much,  will  it  not?  "  and 
the  lady  smiled  with  a  lively  look  of  gratification. 

I  look  back  now  with  mingled  pity  of  my  simple  self 
and  admiration  of  the  old  lady  who  thus  artfully  wove 
her  foils  about  me.  She  knew  she  must  not  alarm  my 
father,  or  imprison  me,  or  fail  to  make  me  happy  in  the 
gilded  trap  she  had  set  for  me.  All  her  work  upon  me 


Artinir  Bonnicastle.  105 

was  that  of  a  thorough  artist.  What  she  wanted  was  to 
sever  me  and  my  sympathy  from  my  father  and  his 
home,  and  to  make  herself  and  her  house  the  centre  of 
my  life.  She  saw  that  my  time  would  pass  slowly  if  I 
had  no  companion  ;  and  Henry's  coming  would  be  likely 
to  do  more  than  anything  to  hold  me.  My  pride  would 
certainly  move  me  to  bring  him  to  my  room,  and  she 
would  manage  the  rest. 

After  dinner,  I  asked  liberty  to  go  to  the  stable.  I 
was  fond  of  horses  and  all  domestic  animals.  I  made 
my  request  in  the  presence  of  Jenks,  and  that  whimsical 
old  hypocrite  had  the  hardihood  to  growl  and  grumble 
and  mutter  as  if  he  regarded  the  presence  of  a  boy  in 
the  stable  as  a  most  offensive  intrusion  upon  his  special 
domain.  I  could  not  comprehend  such  duplicity,  and 
looked  at  him  inquiringly. 

"  Don't  mind  Jenks,"  said  Madame  ;  "  he's  a  fool." 

Jenks  went  growling  out  of  the  room,  but,  as  he  passed 
me,  I  caught  the  old  cunning  look  in  his  little  eyes,  and 
followed  him.  When  the  door  was  closed  he  cut  a  pigeon- 
wing,  and  ended  by  throwing  one  foot  entirely  over  my 
head.  Then  he  whispered  :  "  You  go  out  and  stay  there 
until  I  come.  Don't  disturb  anything."  So  I  went  out, 
thinking  him  quite  the  nimblest  and  queerest  old  fellow 
I  had  ever  seen. 

I  passed  half  an  hour  patting  the  horse's  head,  calling 
the  chickens  around  me,  and  wondering  what  the  plans 
of  Jenks  would  be.  At  length  he  appeared.  Walking 
tiptoe  into  the  stable,  he  said  :  '•  The  old  woman  is 
down  for  a  nap,  and  we've  got  two  good  hours  for  a 
voyage.  Now,  messmate,  let's  up  sails  and  be  off!  " 

At  this  he  seized  a  long  rope  which  depended  from 
one  of  the  great  beams  above,  and  pulled  away  with  a 
"Yo!  heave  oh!"  sotto  voce  (letting  it  slide  through 
his  hands  at  every  call),  as  if  an  immense  spread  of 
canvas  was  to  be  the  result. 
5* 


106  Arthur  Bonnicastlc. 

"  Belay  there  !  "  he  said  at  last,  in  token  that  his  ship 
was  under  way,  and  the  voyage  begun. 

"  It's  a  bit  cold,  my  hearty,  and  now  for  a  turn  on  the 
quarter-deck,"  he  said,  as  he  grasped  my  hand,  and 
walked  with  me  back  and  forth  across  the  floor.  I  was 
seized  with  an  uncontrollable  fit  of  laughter,  but  walked 
with  him,  nothing  loth.  "  Now  we  plough  the  billow," 
said  Jenks,  "  this  is  what  I  call  gay." 

After  giving  our  blood  a  jog,  and  getting  into  a  glow, 
he  began  to  laugh. 

"  What  are  you  laughing  at  ?  "  I  inquired. 

"  She  made  me  promise  that  I  wouldn't  tease  or 
trouble  you,  she  did!"  and  then  he  laughed  again. 
"  Oh  yes  ;  Jenks  is  a  fool,  he  is  !  Jenks  is  a  tremen- 
duous  fool !  "  Then  he  suddenly  sobered,  and  suggested 
that  it  was  time  to  examine  our  chart.  Dropping  my 
hand,  he  went  to  a  bin  of  oats,  built  like  a  desk,  and 
opening  from  the  top  with  a  falling  lid.  To  this  lid  he 
had  attached  two  legs  by  hinges  of  leather,  which  sup 
ported  it  at  a  convenient  angle.  Then  he  brought  forth 
two  three-legged  milking-stools  and  placed  them  before 
it,  and  plunging  his  hand  deep  down  into  the  oats  drew 
out  my  atlas,  neatly  wrapped  in  an  old  newspaper.  This 
he  opened  before  me,  and  we  took  our  seats. 

"  Now  where  are  we  ?  "  said  Jenks. 

I  opened  to  the  map  of  the  world,  and  said  :  "  Here 
Is  New  York,  and  there  is  Boston.  We  can't  be  very  far 
from  either  of 'em,  but  I  think  we  are  between  'em." 

"  Very  well,  let  it  be  between  'em,"  said  Jenks.  "  Now 
what  ?  " 

"  Where  will  you  go  ?  "   I  inquired. 

"  I  don't  care  where  I  go  ;  let  us  have  a  big  sail,  now 
that  we  are  in  for  it,"  he  replied. 

"  Well,  then,  let's  go  to  Great  Britain,"  I  said. 

"  Isn't  there  something  that  they  call  the  English 
Channel  ?  "  inquired  Jenks  with  a  doubtful  look. 


S>TATE  NORMAL  SCHOOL, 


ArtJiur 

"  Yes,  there  is,"  and  cruising  about  among  the  fine 
type,  I  found  it. 

"  Well,  I  don't  like  this  idea  of  being  out  of  sight  of 
/and.  It's  dangerous,  and  if  you  can't  sleep,  there  is  no 
place  to  go  to.  Let's  steer  straight  for  the  English  Chan 
nel — straight  as  a  ramrod." 

"  But  it  will  take  a  month,"  I  said  ;  "  I  have  heard 
people  say  so  a  great  many  times." 

"  My!  A  month?  Out  of  sight  of  land?  No  old 
woman  and  no  curry-comb  for  a  month  ?  Hey  de  did 
dle  !  Very  well,  let  it  be  a  month.  Hullo  !  it's  all  over ! 
Here  we  are  :  now  where  are  we  on  the  map  ?  " 

"  We  seem  to  be  pretty  near  to  Paris,"  1  said,  "  but 
we  don't  quite  touch  it.  There  must  be  some  little 
places  along  here  that  are  not  put  down.  There's  Lon 
don,  too  :  that  doesn't  seem  to  be  a  great  way  off,  but 
there's  a  strip  of  land  between  it  and  the  water." 

"  Why,  yes,  there's  Paris,"  said  Jenks,  looking  out  of 
the  stable  window,  and  down  upon  the  town.  "  Don't 
you  see  ?  It's  a  fine  city.  I  think  I  see  just  where 
Napoleon  Bonaparte  lives.  But  it's  a  wicked  place  ; 
let's  get  away  from  it.  Bear  off  now  ;  "  and  so  our  im 
aginary  bark,  to  use  Jenks'  large  phrase,  "  swept  up 
the  Channel." 

Here  I  suggested  that  we  had  better  take  a  map  of 
Great  Britain,  and  we  should  probably  find  more  places 
to  stop  at.  I  found  it  easily,  with  the  "  English  Channel" 
in  large  letters. 

"  Here  we  are  !  "  I  said  :  "  see  the  towns  ! " 

"My!  Ain't  they  thick  !"  responded  Jenks.  '  What 
is  that  name  running  lengthwise  there  right  through  the 
water  ?  " 

"  That's  the  '  Strait  of  Dover,'  "  I  replied. 

"  Well,  then,  look  out !  We're  running  right  into  it ! 
It's  a  confounded  narrow  place,  any  way-  Bear  away 
there ;  take  the  middle  course.  I've  heard  of  then: 


loS  Artlnir  Bonnicastle. 

Straits  of  Dover  before.  They  are  dangerous ;  but 
we're  through,  we're  through.  Now  where  are  we  ?  " 

"  We  are  right  at  the  mouth  of  the  Thames,"  I  re 
plied,  "  and  here  is  a  river  that  leads  straight  up  to 
London." 

"  Cruise  off!  cruise  off!"  said  Jenks.  "  We're  in  an 
enemy's  country.  Sure  enough,  there's  London  ;  "  and 
he  looked  out  of  the  window  with  a  fixed  gaze,  as  if  the 
dome  of  St.  Paul's  were  as  plainly  in  sight  as  his  own 
nose.  After  satisfying  himself  with  a  survey  of  the  great 
city,  he  remarked,  interrogatively,  "  Haven't  we  had 
about  enough  of  this  ?  I  want  to  go  where  the  spicy 
breezes  blow.  Now  that  we  have  got  our  sea-legs  on, 
let  us  make  for  the  equator.  Bring  the  ship  round  ;  here 
sve  go  ;  now  what  ?  " 

"  We  have  got  to  cross  the  Tropic  of  Cancer,  for  all 
that  I  can  see,"  said  I. 

"  Can't  we  possibly  dodge  it  ?  "  inquired  Jenks  with 
concern. 

"  I  don't  see  how  we  can,"  I  replied.  "  It  seems  to 
go  clean  around." 

"  What  is  it,  any  way  ?  "  said  he. 

"It  don't  seem  to  be  anything  but  a  sort  of  dotted 
line,"  I  answered. 

"  Oh  well,  never  mind  ;  we'll  get  along  with  that," 
he  said  encouragingly.  "  Steer  between  two  dots,  and 
hold  your  breath.  My  uncle  David  had  one  of  them 
things." 

Here  Jenks  covered  his  mouth  and  nose  with  entire 
gravity,  and  held  them  until  the  imaginary  danger  was 
past.  At  last,  with  a  red  face,  he  inquired,  "  Are  we 
over  ? " 

"  All  over,"  I  replied;  "  and  now  where  do  you  want 
to  go  ?  " 

"  Isn't  there  something  that  they  call  the  Channel  of 
Mozambique  ?  "  said  Jenks. 


Arthur  Bonnicastlc.  109 

"  Why  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  Well,  I've  always  thought  it  must  be  a  splendid 
sheet  of  water  !  Yes:  Channel  of  Mozambique — splendid 
sheet  of  water !  Mozambique  !  Grand  name,  isn't  it  ?  " 

"  Why,  here  it  is,"  said  I,  "  away  round  here.  We've 
got  to  run  down  the  coast  of  Africa,  and  around  the  Cape 
of  Good  Hope,  and  up  into  the  Indian  Ocean.  Shall  we 
touch  anywhere  ?  " 

"  No,  I  reckon  it  isn't  best.  The  niggers  will  think 
we  are  after  'em,  and  we  may  get  into  trouble.  But 
look  here,  boy  !  We've  forgot  the  compasses.  How  we 
ever  managed  to  get  across  the  Atlantic  without  'em  is 
more  than  I  know.  That's  one  of  the  carelessest  things 
I  ever  did.  I  don't  suppose  we  could  do  it  again  in  try 
ing  a  thousand  times." 

Thereupon  he  drew  from  a  corner  of  the  oat-bin  an 
old  pair  of  carpenter's  compasses,  between  which  and 
the  mariner's  compass  neither  he  nor  I  knew  the  differ 
ence,  and  said  :  "  Now  let  us  sail  by  compasses,  in  the 
regular  way." 

"  How  do  you  do  it  ?  "  I  inquired. 

"  There  can't  be  but  one  way,  as  I  see,"  he  replied. 
"  You  put  one  leg  down  on  the  map,  where  you  are, 
then  put  the  other  down  where  you  want  to  go,  and  just 
sail  for  that  leg." 

"  Well,"  said  I,  "  here  we  are,  close  to  the  Canary 
Islands.  Put  one  leg  down  there,  and  the  other  down 
here  at  St.  Helena." 

After  considerable  questioning  and  fumbling  and  ad 
justing  of  the  compasses,  they  were  held  in  their  place 
by  the  ingenious  navigator,  while  we  drove  for  the  lonely 
island.  After  a  considerable  period  of  silence,  Jenks 
broke  out  with  :  "  Doesn't  she  cut  the  water  beautiful  ? 
It  takes  the  Jane  Whittlesey  !  " 

"  Oh  !  "  I  exclaimed,  "  I  didn't  know  you  had  a  name 
for  her." 


cio  Arthur  BonnicaslJc, 

"  Yes,"  said  Jenks  with  a  sigh — still  holding  fast  to 
the  compasses,  as  if  our  lives  depended  upon  his  faith 
fulness — "  Jane  Whittlesey  has  been  the  name  of  every 
vessel  I  ever  owned.  You  know  what  I  told  you  about 
that  young  woman  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  I  said  ;  "  and  was  that  her  name  ?  " 

Jenks  nodded,  and  sighed  again,  still  keeping  his  eye 
upon  the  outermost  leg  of  the  instrument,  and  holding 
it  firmly  in  its  place. 

"  Here  we  are,"  he  exclaimed  at  last.  "  Now  let's 
double  over  and  start  again." 

So  the  northern  leg  came  round  with  a  half  circle,  and 
went  down  at  the  Cape  of  Good  Hope.  The  Tropic  of 
Capricorn  proved  less  dangerous  than  the  northern  cor 
responding  line,  and  so,  at  last,  sweeping  around  the 
Cape,  we  brought  that  leg  of  the  compasses  which  we 
had  left  behind  toward  the  equator  again,  and,  working 
up  on  the  map,  arrived  at  our  destination. 

"  Well,  here  we  are  in  the  Channel  of  Mozambique," 
I  said. 

"  What's  that  blue  place  there  on  the  right  hand  side 
of  it  ?  "  he  inquired. 

"  That's  the  Island  of  Madagascar." 

"  You  don't  tell  me  !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  Well !  I 
never  expected  to  be  so  near  that  place.  The  Island  of 
Madagascar !  The  Island  of  Mad-a-gas-car  !  Let's 
take  a  look  at  it." 

Thereupon  he  rose  and  took  a  long  look  out  of  the 
window.  "  Elephants — mountains — tigers — monkeys — 
golden  sands — cannibals,"  he  exclaimed  slowly,  as  he 
apprehended  seriatim  the  objects  he  named.  Then  he 
elevated  his  nose,  and  began  to  sniff  the  air,  as  if  some 
far-off  odor  had  reached  him  on  viewless  wings.  "  Spicy 
breezes,  upon  my  word  !"  he  exclaimed.  "  Don't  you 
notice  'em,  boy  ?  Smell  uncommonly  like  hay  ;  what 
do  you  think  ?  " 


Arthur  BonnicastJe.  ill 

We  had  after  this  a  long  and  interesting  cruise,  run 
ning  into  various  celebrated  ports,  and  gradually  work 
ing  toward  home.  I  was  too  busy  with  the  navigation  to 
join  Jenks  in  his  views  of  the  countries  and  islands  which 
we  passed  on  the  voyage,  but  he  enjoyed  every  league 
of  the  long  and  eventful  sail.  At  last  the  Jane  Whittle- 
sey  ran  straight  into  Mrs.  Sanderson's  home  inclosures, 
and  Jenks  cast  anchor  by  dropping  a  huge  stone  through 
a  trap-door  in  the  floor. 

"  It  really  seems  good  to  be  at  home  again,  and  to 
feel  everything  standing  still,  doesn't  it  ?  "  said  he.  "  I 
wonder  if  I  can  walk  straight,"  he  went  on,  and  then 
proceeded  to  ascertain  by  actual  experiment.  I  have 
laughed  a  hundred  times  since  at  the  recollection  of  the 
old  fellow's  efforts  to  adapt  himself  to  the  imaginary 
billows  of  the  stable-floor. 

"  I  hope  I  shall  get  over  this  before  supper- time," 
said  Jenks,  "  for  the  old  woman  will  know  we  have  been 
to  sea." 

I  enjoyed  the  play  quite  as  well  as  my  companion  did, 
but  even  then  I  did  not  comprehend  that  it  was  simply 
play,  with  him.  I  supposed  it  was  a  trick  of  his  to  learn 
something  of  geography  before  cutting  loose  from  ser 
vice  and  striking  out  into  the  great  world  by  way  of  the 
ocean.  So  I  said  to  him  :  "  What  do  you  do  this  for?" 

"  What  do  I  do  it  for  ?  What  does  anybody  go  to  sea 
for?"  he  inquired,  with  astonishment. 

"  Well,  but  you  don't  go  to  the  real  sea,  you  know," 
I  suggested. 

"  Don't  I  !  That's  what  the  atlas  says,  anyway,  and 
the  atlas  ought  to  know,"  said  Jenks.  "  At  any  rate  it's 
as  good  a  sea  as  I  want  at  this  time  of  year,  just  before 
winter  comes  on.  If  you  only  think  so,  it's  a  great  deal 
better  sailing  on  an  atlas  than  it  is  sailing  on  the  water. 
You  have  only  to  go  a  few  inches,  and  you  needn't  get 
wet,  and  you  can't  drown.  You  can  see  everything  there 


1 1 2  Arthur  Bonnicastle. 

is  in  the  world  by  looking  out  of  the  window,  and  think 
ing  you  do  ;  and  what's  the  use  spending  so  much  time 
as  people  do  travelling  to  the  ends  of  the  earth  ?  The 
only  thing  that  troubles  me  is  that  Bradford's  Irishman 
down  here  has  really  come  across  the  ocean,  and  I  don't 
s'pose  he  cared  any  more  about  it  than  if  he'd  been  a 
pig.  If  I  could  only  have  had  a  real  sail  on  the  ocean, 
and  got  through  with  it,  I  don't  know  but  I  should  be 
ready  to  die." 

"  But  you  will  have,  some  time,  you  know,"  I  said  en 
couragingly. 

"  Do  you  think  so  ?  " 

"  When  you  run  away  you  will,"  I  said. 

"  I  don't  know,"  he  responded  dubiously.  "  I  think 
perhaps  I'd  better  run  away  on  an  atlas  a  few  times  first, 
just  to  learn  the  ropes." 

Here  we  were  interrupted  by  the  tinkle  of  a  bell,  and 
it  was  marvellous  to  see  how  quickly  the  atlas  disap 
peared  in  the  oats,  and  the  lid  was  closed  over  it.  Jenks 
went  to  the  house  and  I  followed  him. 

Mrs.  Sanderson  did  not  inquire  how  I  had  spent  my 
time.  It  was  enough  for  her  that  I  had  in  no  way  dis 
turbed  her  after-dinner  nap,  and  that  I  came  when  she 
wanted  me.  I  told  her  I  had  enjoyed  the  day  very 
much,  and  that  I  hoped  my  father  would  let  me  come 
up  soon  and  occupy  my  room.  Then  I  went  up-stairs 
and  looked  the  room  all  over  again,  and  tried  to  realize 
the  extent  and  value  of  my  new  possession.  When  I 
went  home,  toward  night,  she  loaded  me  with  nice  little 
gifts  for  my  mother  and  the  children,  and  I  lost  no  time 
in  my  haste  to  tell  the  family  of  the  good  fortune  that  had 
befallen  me.  My  mother  was  greatly  delighted  with  my 
representations,  but  my  father  was  sad.  I  think  he  was 
moved  to  sever  my  connection  with  the  artful  woman  at 
once,  and  take  the  risks  of  the  step,  but  a  doubt  of  his 
own  ability  to  do  for  me  what  it  was  her  intention  and 


Arthur  Bonnicastlc.  1 1 3 

power  to  do  withheld  him.  He  consented  at  last  to  lose 
me  because  he  loved  me,  and  on  the  following  day  I 
went  out  from  my  home  with  an  uneasy  conviction  that 
I  had  been  bought  and  paid  for,  and  was  little  better 
than  an  expensive  piece  of  property,  What  she  would 
do  with  me  I  could  not  tell.  I  had  my  doubts  and  my 
dreams,  which  I  learned  to  keep  to  myself;  but  in  the 
swift  years  that  followed  there  was  never  an  unkind  word 
spoken  to  me  in  my  new  home,  or  any  unkind  treatment 
experienced  which  made  me  regret  the  step  I  had  taken. 

I  learned  to  regard  Mrs.  Sanderson  as  the  wisest 
woman  living ;  and  I  found,  as  the  time  rolled  by,  that 
I  had  adopted  her  judgments  upon  nearly  every  person 
and  every  subject  that  called  forth  her  opinion.  She 
assumed  superiority  to  all  her  neighbors.  She  sat  on  a 
social  throne,  in  her  own  imagination.  There  were  few 
who  openly  acknowledged  her  sway,  but  she  was  imper 
turbable.  Wherever  she  appeared,  men  bowed  to  her 
with  profoundest  courtesy,  and  women  were  assiduous 
in  their  politeness.  They  may  have  flouted  her  when 
she  was  out  of  sight,  but  they  were  flattered  by  her  at 
tentions,  and  were  always  careful  in  her  presence  to 
yield  her  the  pre-eminence  she  assumed.  No  man  or 
woman  ever  came  voluntarily  into  collision  with  her  will. 
Keen,  quiet,  alert,  self-possessed,  she  lived  her  own  in 
dependent  life,  asking  no  favors,  granting  few,  and  hold 
ing  herself  apart  from,  and  above,  all  around  her.  The 
power  of  this  self-assertion,  insignificant  as  she  was  in 
physique,  was  simply  gigantic. 

To  this  height  she  undertook  to  draw  me,  severing 
cne  by  one  the  sympathies  which  bound  me  to  my  family 
and  my  companions,  and  making  me  a  part  of  herself. 
1  remember  distinctly  the  processes  of  the  change,  and 
their  result.  I  grew  more  silent,  more  self-contained, 
more  careful  of  my  associations.  The  change  in  me 
had  its  effect  in  my  own  home.  I  came  to  be  regarded 


114  Art h 1 1 r  Bo n n i castle. 

there  as  a  sort  of  superior  being  ;  and  when  I  went  there 
for  a  day  the  best  things  were  given  me  to  eat,  and  cer 
tain  proprieties  were  observed  by  the  family,  as  if  a  rare 
stranger  had  come  among  them.  In  the  early  part  of 
my  residence  at  The  Mansion,  some  of  the  irreverent 
little  democrats  of  the  street  called  me  "  Mother  San 
derson's  Baby,"  but  even  this  humiliating  and  madden 
ing  taunt  died  away  when  it  was  whispered  about  that 
she  was  educating  her  heir,  and  that  1  should  be  some 
day  the  richest  young  man  in  the  town. 


CHAPTER   VII. 

i    LEAVE   THE   BIRD'S    NEST  AND   MAKE  A   GREAT   DIS 
COVERY. 

LIFE  is  remembered  rather  by  epochs  than  by  contin 
uous  details.  I  spent  five  years  at  The  Bird's  Nest,  vis 
iting  home  twice  every  year,  and  becoming  more  and 
more  accustomed  to  the  thought  that  I  had  practically 
ceased  to  be  a  member  of  my  own  family.  My  home 
and  all  my  belongings  were  at  the  Mansion ;  and 
although  I  kept  a  deep,  warm  spot  in  my  heart  for  my 
father,  which  never  grew  cold,  there  seemed  to  be  a  dif 
ference  in  kind  and  quality  between  me  and  my  brothers 
and  sisters  which  forbade  the  old  intimacy.  The  life  at 
home  had  grown  more  generous  with  my  father's  ad 
vancing  prosperity,  and  my  sisters,  catching  the  spirir 
of  the  prosperous  community  around  them,  had  done 
much  to  beautify  and  elevate  its  appointments. 

The  natural  tendency  of  the  treatment  I  received, 
both  at  my  father's  house  and  at  The  Mansion,  was  for 
a  long  time  to  concentrate  my  thoughts  upon  myself,  so 
that  when,  on  my  fifteenth  birthday,  I  entered  my  fa- 


Arthur  Bonnicastle.  115 

ther's  door,  and  felt  peculiarly  charmed  by  my  welcome 
and  glad  in  the  happiness  which  my  presence  gave,  I 
made  a  discovery.  I  found  my  sister  Claire  a  remarka 
bly  pretty  young  woman.  She  was  two  years  my  senior, 
and  had  been  so  long  my  profoundest  worshipper  that  I 
had  never  dreamed  what  she  might  become.  She  was 
the  sweetest  of  blondes,  with  that  unerring  instinct  of 
dress  which  enabled  her  to  choose  always  the  right  color, 
and  so  to  drape  her  slender  and  graceful  figure  as  to  be 
always  attractive.  My  own  advance  toward  manhood 
helped  me,  I  suppose,  to  appreciate  her  as  I  had  not 
hitherto  done  ;  and  before  I  parted  with  her,  to  return 
to  the  closing  term  of  Mr.  Bird's  tuition,  I  had  become 
proud  of  her,  and  ambitious  for  her  future.  I  found,  too, 
that  she  had  more  than  kept  pace  with  me  in  study.  It 
was  a  great  surprise.  By  what  ingenuities  she  had  man 
aged  to  win  her  accomplishments,  and  become  the  ed 
ucated  lady  that  she  was,  I  knew  not.  It  was  the  way 
of  New  England  girls  then  as  it  is  now.  I  had  long  talks 
and  walks  with  her,  and  quite  excited  the  jealousy  of 
Mrs.  Sanderson  by  the  amount  of  time  I  devoted  to  her. 

In  these  years  Mrs.  Sanderson  herself  had  hardly  grown 
appreciably  older.  Her  hair  had  become  a  little  whiter, 
but  she  retained,  apparently,  all  her  old  vigor,  and  was 
the  same  strong-willed,  precise,  prompt,  opinionated  wo 
man  she  was  when  I  first  knew  her.  Jenks  and  I  had 
many  sails  upon  the  atlas  succeeding  that  which  I  have 
described,  but  something  had  always  interfered  to  pre 
vent  him  from  taking  the  final  step  which  would  sever 
his  connection  with  the  service  of  his  old  mistress  for 
ever. 

Every  time  during  these  five  years  that  I  went  home 
to  spend  my  vacation,  I  invited  Henry  to  accompany 
me,  but  his  mother  invariably  refused  to  permit  him  to 
do  so.  Mrs.  Sanderson,  in  her  disappointment,  offered 
to  defray  all  the  expenses  of  the  journey,  which,  in  the 


n6  Arthur  Bonnicastle. 

meantime,  had  ceased  to  be  made  with  the  old  horse 
and  chaise  ;  but  there  came  always  from  his  mother  the 
same  refusal.  The  old  lady  was  piqued  at  last,  and  be 
came  soured  toward  him.  Indeed,  if  she  could  have 
found  a  valid  excuse  for  the  step,  she  would  have  broken 
off  our  intimacy.  She  had  intended  an  honor  to  an  un 
known  lad  in  humble  circumstances  ;  and  to  have  that 
honor  persistently  spurned,  without  apparent  reason, 
exasperated  her.  "  The  lad  is  a  churl,  depend  upon  it, 
when  you  get  at  the  bottom  of  him,"  was  the  stereotyped 
reply  to  all  my  attempts  to  palliate  his  offence,  and  vin 
dicate  the  lovableness  of  his  character. 

These  years  of  study  and  development  had  wrought 
great  changes  in  me.  Though  thoroughly  healthy — 
thanks  to  the  considerate  management  of  my  teacher — 
I  grew  up  tall  and  slender,  and  promised  to  reach  the 
reputed  altitude  of  the  old  Bonnicastles.  I  was  a  man 
in  stature  by  the  side  of  my  sister  Claire,  and  assumed 
the  dress  and  carriage  of  a  man.  Though  Henry  was 
two  years  older  than  I,  we  studied  together  in  every 
thing,  and  were  to  leave  school  together.  Our  compan 
ionship  had  been  fruitful  of  good  to  both  of  us.  I  stirred 
him  and  he  steadied  me. 

There  was  one  aim  which  we  held  in  common — the 
aim  at  personal  integrity  and  thorough  soundness  of 
character.  This  aim  had  been  planted  in  us  both  by 
Christian  parents,  and  it  was  fostered  in  every  practica 
ble  way  by  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Bird.  There  was  one  habit, 
learned  at  home,  which  we  never  omitted  for  a  night 
while  we  were  at  school — the  habit  of  kneeling  at  our 
bedside  before  retiring  to  slumber,  and  offering  silently 
a  prayer.  Dear  Mrs.  Bird — that  sweet  angel  of  all  the 
little  boys — was  always  with  us  in  our  first  nights  to 
gether,  when  we  engaged  in  our  devotions,  and  sealed 
our  young  lips  for  sleep  with  a  kiss.  Bidding  us  to  pray 
for  what  we  wanted,  and  to  thank  our  Father  for  all  that 


Arthur  Bonnicastle.  117 

we  received,  with  the  simple  and  hearty  language  we 
would  use  if  we  were  addressing  our  own  parents,  and 
adjuring  us  never,  under  any  circumstances,  to  omit  out 
offering,  she  left  us  at  last  to  ourselves.  "  Remember," 
she  used  to  say,  "  remember  that  no  one  can  do  this  for 
you.  The  boy  who  confesses  his  sins  every  .night  has 
always  the  fewest  sins  to  confess.  The  habit  of  daily 
confession  and  prayer  is  the  surest  corrective  of  all  that 
is  wrong  in  your  motives  and  conduct." 

In  looking  back  upon  this  aspect  of  our  life  together, 
I  am  compelled  to  believe  that  both  Henry  and  myself 
were  in  the  line  of  Christian  experience.  Those  prayers 
and  those  daily  efforts  at  good,  conscientious  living, 
were  the  solid  beginnings  of  a  Christian  character.  I 
do  not  permit  myself  to  question  that  had  I  gone  on  in 
that  simple  way  I  should  have  grown  into  a  Christian 
man.  The  germination  and  development  of  the  seed 
planted  far  back  in  childhood  would,  I  am  sure,  have 
been  crowned  with  a  divine  fruitage.  Both  of  us  had 
been  taught  that  we  belonged  to  the  Master — that  we 
had  been  given  to  him  in  baptism.  Neither  of  us  had 
been  devoted  to  Him  by  parents  who,  having  placed  His 
seal  upon  our  foreheads,  thenceforth  strove  to  convince 
us  that  we  were  the  children  of  the  devil.  Expecting  to 
be  Christians,  trying  to  live  according  to  the  Christian 
rule  of  life,  never  doubting  that  in  good  time  we  should 
be  numbered  among  Christian  disciples,  we  were  already- 
Christian  disciples.  Why  should  it  be  necessary  that  the 
aggregate  sorrow  and  remorse  for  years  of  selfishness 
and  transgression  be  crowded  into  a  few  hours  or  days  ? 
Why  should  it  be  necessary  to  be  lifted  out  of  a  great  hor 
ror  of  blackness  and  darkness  and  tempest,  into  a  super 
nal  light  by  one  grand  sweep  of  passion  ?  Are  safe  foun 
dations  laid  in  storms  and  upheavals?  Are  conviction 
and  character  nourished  by  violent  access  and  reaction 
of  feeling  ?  We  give  harsh  remedies  for  desperate  dis- 


Ii8  Arthur  Bonnicastle. 

eases,  and  there  are  such  things  as  desperate  diseases.  I 
am  sure  that  Henry  and  I  were  not  desperately  diseased. 
The  whole  drift  of  our  aims  was  toward  the  realization  of 
a  Christian  life.  The  grand  influences  shaping  us  from 
childhood  were  Christian.  Every  struggle  with  that  which 
was  base  and  unworthy  within  us  was  inspired  by  Chris 
tian  motives.  Imperfect  in  knowledge,  infirm  in  will, 
volatile  in  purpose  as  boys  always  are  and  always  will 
be,  still  we  were  Christian  boys,  who  had  only  to  grow 
in  order  to  rise  into  the  purer  light  and  better  life  of  the 
Christian  estate. 

I  am  thus  particular  in  speaking  of  this,  for  I  was  des 
tined  to  pass  through  an  experience  which  endangered 
all  that  I  had  won.  I  shall  write  of  this  experience  with 
great  care,  but  with  a  firm  conviction  that  my  unvar 
nished  story  has  a  useful  lesson  in  it,  and  an  earnest 
wish  that  it  may  advance  the  cause  which  holds  within 
itself  the  secret  of  a  world's  redemption.  I  am  sure  that 
our  religious  teachers  do  not  competently  estimate  the 
power  of  religious  education  on  a  great  multitude  of 
minds,  or  adequately  measure  the  almost  infinite  mis 
chief  that  may  be  inflicted  upon  sensitive  natures  by 
methods  of  address  and  influence  only  adapted  to  those 
who  are  sluggish  in  temperament  or  besotted  by  vice. 

My  long  stay  at  The  Bird's  Nest  was  a  period  of  unin 
terrupted  growth  of  mind  as  well  as  of  body.  Mr.  Bird 
was  a  man  who  recognized  the  fact  that  time  is  one  of 
the  elements  that  enter  into  a  healthy  development  of 
the  mind — that  mental  digestion  and  assimilation  are 
quite  as  essential  to  true  growth  as  the  reception  of 
abundant  food.  Hence  his  aim  was  never  to  crowd  a 
pupil  beyond  his  powers  of  easy  digestion,  and  never  to 
press  to  engorgement  the  receptive  faculties.  To  give 
the  mind  ideas  to  live  upon  while  it  acquired  the  disci 
pline  for  work,  was  his  steady  practice  and  policy.  All 
the  current  social  and  political  questions  were  made  as 


Arthur  Bonnicastle.  119 

familiar  to  the  boys  under  his  charge  as  they  were  to  the 
reading  world  outside.  The  issues  involved  in  every 
political  contest  were  explained  to  us,  and  I  think  we 
learned  more  that  was  of  practical  use  to  us  in  after-life 
from  his  tongue  than  from  the  text-books  which  we 
studied. 

Some  of  the  peculiarities  of  Mr.  Bird's  administration 
I  have  already  endeavored  to  represent,  and  one  of  these 
I  must  recall  at  the  risk  of  repetition  and  tediousness. 
In  the  five  years  which  I  spent  under  his  roof  and  care, 
I  do  not  think  one  lad  left  the  school  with  the  feeling 
that  he  had  been  unjustly  treated  in  any  instance.  No 
bitter  revenges  were  cherished  in  any  heart.  If,  in'  his 
haste  or  perplexity,  the  master  ever  did  a  boy  a  wrong, 
he  made  instant  and  abundant  reparation,  in  an  ac 
knowledgment  to  the  whole  school.  He  was  as  tender 
of  the  humblest  boy's  reputation  as  he  was  of  any  man's, 
or  even  of  his  own.  When  I  think  of  the  brutal  despot 
ism  that  reigns  in  so  many  schools  of  this  and  other 
countries,  and  of  the  indecent  way  in  which  thousands 
of  sensitive  young  natures  are  tortured  by  men  who,  in 
the  sacred  office  of  the  teacher,  display  manners  that 
have  ceased  to  be  respectable  in  a  stable,  I  bless  my 
kind  stars — nay,  I  thank  God — for  those  five  years,  and 
the  sweet  influence  that  has  poured  from  them  in  a 
steady  stream  through  all  my  life. 

The  third  summer  of  my  school  life  was  "Reunion 
Summer,"  and  one  week  of  vacation  was  devoted  to 
the  old  boys.  It  was  with  inexpressible  interest  that 
I  witnessed  the  interviews  between  them  and  their 
teacher.  Young  men  from  college  with  downy  whiskers 
and  fashionable  clothes  ;  young  men  in  business,  with 
the  air  of  business  in  their  manners;  young  clergymen, 
doctors,  and  lawyers  came  back  by  scores.  They 
brought  a  great  breeze  from  the  world  with  them,  but 
all  became  boys  again  when  they  entered  the  presence 


I2O  Arthur  Bonnicastle. 

of  their  old  master.  They  kissed  him  as  they  were  wont 
to  do  in  the  times  which  had  become  old  times  to  them. 
They  hung  upon  his  neck ;  they  walked  up  and  down 
the  parlors  with  their  arms  around  him  ;  they  sat  in  his 
lap,  and  told  him  of  their  changes,  troubles  and  suc 
cesses  ;  and  all  were  happy  to  be  at  the  old  nest  again. 

Ah,  \\\\-d\  fetes  were  crowded  into  that  happy  week  !— 
what  games  of  ball,  what  receptions,  what  excursions, 
what  meetings  and  speeches,  what  songs,  what  delight 
ful  interminglings  of  all  the  social  elements  of  the  vil 
lage  !  What  did  it  matter  that  we  small  boys  felt  very 
small  by  the  side  of  those  young  men  whose  old  rooms 
we  were  occupying  ?  We  enjoyed  their  presence,  and 
found  in  it  the  promise  that  at  some  future  time  we 
should  come  back  with  whiskers  upon  our  cheeks,  and 
the  last  triumph  of  the  tailor  in  our  coats  ! 

Henry  and  I  were  to  leave  school  in  the  autumn  ;  and 
as  the  time  drew  near  for  our  departure  dear  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Bird  grew  more  tender  toward  us,  for  we  had  been 
there  longer  than  any  of  the  other  boys.  I  think  there 
was  not  a  lad  at  The  Bird's  Nest  during  our  last  term 
whom  we  found  there  on  our  entrance  five  years  before. 
Jolly  Jack  Linton  had  become  a  clerk  in  a  city  shop,  and 
was  already  thrifty  and  popular.  Tom  Kendrick  was  in 
college,  and  was  to  become  a  Christian  minister.  An 
drews,  too,  was  in  college,  and  was  bringing  great  com 
fort  to  his  family  by  a  true  life  that  had  been  begun  with 
so  bad  a  promise.  Mr.  Bird  seemed  to  take  a  special 
pleasure  in  our  society,  and,  while  loosening  his  claim 
upon  us  as  pupils,  to  hold  us  as  associates  and  friends 
the  more  closely.  He  loved  his  boys  as  a  father  loves 
his  children.  In  one  of  our  closing  interviews,  he  and 
Mrs.  Bird  talked  freely  of  the  life  they  had  lived,  and  its 
beautiful  compensations.  They  never  wearied  with  their 
work,  but  found  in  the  atmosphere  of  love  that  envel 
oped  them  an  inspiration  for  all  their  labor  and  care, 


Arthur  Bonnicastle.  121 

and  a  balm  for  all  their  trials  and  troubles.  "  If  I  were 
to  live  my  life  over  again,"  said  Mrs.  Bird  to  me  one 
evening,  "  I  should  choose  just  this,  and  be  perfectly 
content."  There  are  those  teachers  who  have  thought 
and  said  that  "every  boy  is  a  born  devil,"  and  have 
taught  for  years  because  they  were  obliged  to  teach, 
with  a  thorough  and  outspoken  detestation  of  their  work. 
It  is  sad  to  think  that  multitudes  of  boys  have  been 
trained  and  misunderstood  and  abused  by  these  men, 
and  to  know  that  thousands  of  them  are  still  in  office, 
untrusted  and  unloved  by  the  tender  spirits  which  they 
have  in  charge. 

My  connection  with  Mrs.  Sanderson  was  a  subject  to 
which  Mr.  Bird  very  rarely  alluded.  I  was  sure  there 
was  something  about  it  which  he  did  not  like,  and  in  the 
last  private  conversation  which  I  held  with  him  it  all 
came  out. 

"  I  want  to  tell  you,  Arthur,"  he  said,  "that  I  have 
but  one  fear  for  you.  You  have  already  been  greatly 
injured  by  Mrs.  Sanderson,  and  by  the  peculiar  relations 
which  she  holds  to  your  life.  In  some  respects  you  are 
not  as  lovable  as  when  you  first  came  here.  You  have 
become  exclusive  in  your  society,  obtrusive  in  your 
•dress,  and  fastidious  in  your  notions  of  many  things. 
You  are  under  the  spell  of  a  despotic  will,  and  the 
moulding  power  of  sentiments  entirely  foreign  to  your 
nature.  She  has  not  spoiled  you,  but  she  has  injured 
you.  You  have  lost  your  liberty,  and  a  cunning  hand  is 
endeavoring  to  shape  you  to  a  destiny  which  it  has  pro 
vided  for  you.  Now  no  wealth  can  compensate  you  for 
such  a  change.  If  she  makes  you  her  heir,  as  I  think 
she  intends  to  do,  she  calculates  upon  your  becoming  a 
useless  and  selfish  gentleman  after  a  pattern  of  her  own. 
Against  this  transformation  you  must  struggle.  To  lose 
your  sympathy  for  your  own  family  and  for  the  great 
multitude  of  the  poor  ;  to  limit  your  labor  to  the  nursing 
6 


122  Arthur  Bonnicastle. 

of  an  old  and  large  estate  ;  to  surrender  all  your  plans 
for  an  active  life  of  usefulness  among  men,  is  to  yield 
yourself  to  a  fate  worse  than  any  poverty  can  inflict.  It 
is  to  be  bought,  to  be  paid  for.  and  to  be  made  a  slave 
of.  I  can  never  be  reconciled  to  any  such  consumma 
tion  of  your  life." 

This  was  plain  talk,  but  it  was  such  as  he  had  a  right  to 
indulge  in  ;  and  I  knew  and  felt  it  to  be  true.  I  had 
arrived  at  the  conviction  in  my  own  way  before,  and  I 
had  wished  in  my  heart  of  hearts  that  I  had  had  my  own 
fortune  to  make,  like  the  other  boys  with  whom  I  had 
associated.  I  knew  that  Henry's  winter  was  to  be  de 
voted  to  teaching,  in  order  to  provide  himself  with  a 
portion  of  the  funds  which  would  be  necessary  for  the 
further  pursuit  of  his  education.  He  had  been  kept 
back  by  poverty  from  entering  school  at  first,  so  that  he 
was  no  further  advanced  in  study  than  myself,  though 
the  years  had  given  him  wider  culture  and  firmer  char 
acter  than  I  possessed.  Still,  I  felt  entirely  unable  and 
unwilling  to  relinquish  advantages  which  brought  me  im 
munity  from  anxiety  and  care,  and  the  position  which 
those  advantages  and  my  prospects  gave  me.  My  best 
ambitions  were  already  sapped.  I  had  become  weak 
and  to  a  sad  extent  self-indulgent.  I  had  acquired  no 
vices,  but  my  beautiful  room  at  The  Mansion  had  been 
made  still  more  beautiful  with  expensive  appointments, 
my  wardrobe  was  much  enlarged,  and,  in  short,  I  was 
in  love  with  riches  and  all  that  riches  procured  for  me. 

Mr.  Bird's  counsel  produced  a  deep  impression  upon 
me,  and  made  me  more  watchful  of  the  changes  in 
my  character  and  the  processes  by  which  they  were 
wrought.  In  truth,  I  strove  against  them,  in  a  weak 
way,  as  a  slave  might  strive  with  chains  of  gold,  which 
charm  him  and  excite  his  cupidity  while  they  bind  him. 

Here,  perhaps,  I  ought  to  mention  the  fact  that  there 
vas  one  subject  which  Henry  would  never  permit  me  t<? 


Arthur  Bonmcastle.  123 

talk  about,  viz.,  the  relations  with  Mrs.  Sanderson  upon 
whose  baleful  power  over  me  Mr.  Bird  had  animad 
verted  so  severely.  Why  these  and  my  allusions  to 
them  were  so  distasteful  to  him,  I  did  not  know,  and 
could  not  imagine,  unless  it  were  that  he  did  not  like 
to  realize  the  difference  between  his  harder  lot  and  mine. 
"  Please  never  mention  the  name  of  Mrs.  Sanderson 
to  me  again,"  he  said  to  me  one  day,  almost  ill-natured 
ly,  and  quite  peremptorily.  "  I  am  tired  of  the  old  wo 
man,  and  I  should  think  you  would  be." 

Quite  unexpectedly,  toward  the  close  of  the  term,  1 
received  a  letter  from  my  father,  conveying  a  hearty  in 
vitation  to  Henry  to  accompany  me  to  Bradford,  and 
become  a  guest  in  his  house.  With  the  fear  of  Mrs. 
Sanderson's  displeasure  before  my  eyes,  should  he  ac 
cept  an  invitation  from  my  father  which  he  had  once 
and  many  times  again  declined  when  extended  by  her 
self,  I  was  mean  enough  to  consider  the  purpose  of  with 
holding  it  from  him  altogether.  But  I  wanted  him  in 
Bradford.  I  wanted  to  show  him  to  my  friends,  and 
so,  risking  all  untoward  consequences,  I  read  him  the 
invitation. 

Henry's  face  brightened  in  an  instant,  and,  without 
consulting  his  mother,  he  said  at  once:  "  I  shall  go." 

Very  much  surprised,  and  fearful  of  what  would  come 
of  it,  I  blundered  out  some  faint  expression  of  my  pleas 
ure  at  the  prospect  of  his  continued  society,  and  the 
matter  was  settled. 

I  cannot  recall  our  parting  with  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Bird 
without  a  blinding  suffusion  of  the  eyes.  Few  words 
were  said.  "  You  know  it  all,  my  boy,"  said  Mr.  Bird, 
as  he  put  his  arms  around  me,  and  pressed  me  to  his 
side.  "  I  took  you  into  my  heart  when  I  first  saw  you, 
and  you  will  live  there  until  you  prove  yourself  unworthy 
of  the  place." 

For   several  years  a  lumbering  old  stage-coach  with 


124  Arthur  Bonnicastlc. 

two  horses  had  run  between  Hillsborough  and  Bradford, 
and  to  this  vehicle  Henry  and  I  committed  our  luggage, 
and  ourselves.  It  was  a  tedious  journey,  which  ter 
minated  at  nightfall,  and  brought  us  first  to  my  father's 
house.  Ordering  my  trunks  to  be  carried  to  The  Man 
sion,  I  went  in  to  introduce  Henry  to  the  family,  with 
the  purpose  of  completing  my  own  journey  on  foot. 

Henry  was  evidently  a  surprise  to  them  all.  Manly  in 
size,  mould  and  bearing,  he  bore  no  resemblance  to  the 
person  whom  they  had  been  accustomed  to  regard  as  a 
lad.  There  was  embarrassment  at  first,  which  Henry's 
quiet  and  unpretending  manners  quickly  dissipated ; 
and  soon  the  stream  of  easy  conversation  was  set  flow 
ing,  and  we  were  all  happy  together.  I  quickly  saw 
that  my  sister  Claire  had  become  the  real  mistress  of 
the  household.  The  evidences  of  her  care  were  every 
where.  My  mother  was  feeble  and  prone  to  melan 
choly  ;  but  her  young  spirit,  full  of  vitality,  had  asserted 
its  sway,  and  produced  a  new  atmosphere  in  the  little 
establishment.  Order,  taste,  and  a  look  of  competency 
and  comfort  prevailed.  Without  any  particular  motive, 
I  watched  the  interchange  of  address  and  impression 
between  Henry  and  my  sister.  It  was  as  charming  as 
a  play.  Two  beings  brought  together  from  different 
worlds  could  not  have  appeared  more  interested  in  each 
other.  Her  cheeks  were  flushed,  her  blue  eyes  were 
luminous,  her  words  were  fresh  and  vivacious,  and  with 
a  woman's  quick  instinct  she  felt  that  she  pleased  him. 
Absorbed  in  his  study  of  the  new  nature  thus  opened  to 
him,  Henry  so  far  forgot  the  remainder  of  the  family  as 
to  address  all  his  words  to  her.  If  my  father  asked  him 
a  question,  he  answered  it  to  Claire.  If  he  told  a  story, 
or  related  an  incident  of  our  journey  homeward,  he  ad 
dressed  it  to  her,  as  if  her  ears  were  the  only  ones  that 
could  hear  it,  or  at  least  were  those  which  would  hear  h 
with  the  most  interest.  I  cannot  say  that  I  had  not  an- 


Arthur  Bonnicastlc.  125 

ticipated  something  like  this.  I  had  wondered,  at  least, 
how  they  would  like  each  other.  Claire's  hand  lighted 
the  candle  with  which  I  led  him  to  his  room.  Claire's 
hand  had  arranged  the  little  bouquet  which  we  found 
upon  his  table. 

"  I  shall  like  all  your  father's  family  very  much,  I 
know,"  said  Henry,  in  our  privacy. 

I  was  quick  enough  to  know  who  constituted  the  largest 
portion  of  the  family,  in  his  estimate  of  the  aggregate. 

It  was  with  a  feeling  of  positive  unhappiness  and  hu 
miliation  that  I  at  last  took  leave  of  the  delightful  and 
delighted  circle,  and  bent  my  steps  to  my  statelier  lodg 
ings  and  the  society  of  my  cold  and  questioning  Aunt. 
I  knew  that  there  would  be  no  hope  of  hiding  from  her 
the  fact  that  Henry  had  accompanied  me  home,  and 
that  entire  frankness  and  promptness  in  announcing  it 
was  my  best  policy ;  but  I  dreaded  the  impression  it 
would  make  upon  her.  I  found  her  awaiting  my  arrival, 
and  met  from  her  a  hearty  greeting.  How  I  wished  that 
Henry  were  a  hundred  miles  away  ! 

"  I  left  my  old  chum  at  my  father's,"  I  said,  almost 
before  she  had  time  to  ask  me  a  question. 

"You  did!"  she  exclaimed,  her  dark  eyes  flaming 
with  anger.  "  How  came  he  there  ?  " 

"  My  father  invited  him  and  he  came  home  with  me,'* 
I  replied. 

"  So  he  spurns  your  invitation  and  mine,  and  accepts 
your  father's.  Will  you  explain  this  ?  " 

"  Indeed  I  cannot,"  I  replied.  "  I  have  nothing  to 
say,  except  that  I  am  sorry  and  ashamed." 

"  I  should  think  so !  I  should  think  so ! "  she  exclaimed, 
rising  and  walking  up  and  down  the  little  library.  "  I 
should  think  so,  indeed !  One  thing  is  proved,  at  least, 
and  proved  to  your  satisfaction,  I  hope — that  he  is  not  a 
gentleman.  I  really  must  forbid —  •"  here  she  checked 
herself,  and  reconsidered.  She  saw  that  I  did  not  follow 


126  Arthur  Bonnicastle. 

her  with  my  sympathy,  and  thought  best  to  adopt  othei 
methods  for  undermining  my  friendship  for  him. 

"Arthur,"  she  said,  at  last,  seating  herself  and  con 
trolling  her  rage,  "  your  model  friend  has  insulted  both 
of  us.  I  am  an  old  woman,  and  he  is  nothing  to  me. 
He  has  been  invited  here  solely  on  your  account,  and, 
if  he  is  fond  of  you,  he  has  declined  the  invitation  solely 
on  mine.  There  is  a  certain  chivalry — a  sense  of  what 
is  due  to  any  woman  under  these  circumstances — that 
you  understand  as  well  as  I  do,  and  I  shall  leave  you  to 
accept  or  reject  its  dictates.  I  ask  nothing  of  you  that 
is  based  in  any  way  on  my  relations  to  you.  This  fellow 
has  grossly,  and  without  any  apology  or  explanation, 
slighted  my  courtesies,  and  crowned  his  insult  by  ac 
cepting  those  coming  from  a  humbler  source — from  one 
of  my  own  tenants,  in  fact." 

"  I  have  nothing  to  say,"  I  responded.  "  I  am  really 
not  to  blame  for  his  conduct,  but  I  should  be  ashamed 
to  quarrel  with  anybody  because  he  would  not  do  what 
I  wanted  him  to  do. 

"  Very  well.  If  that  is  your  conclusion,  I  must  ask 
you  never  to  mention  his  name  to  me  again,  and  if  you 
hold  any  communication  with  him,  never  to  tell  me  of 
it.  You  disappoint  me,  but  you  are  young,  and  you 
must  be  bitten  yourself  before  you  will  learn  to  let  dogs 
alone." 

I  had  come  out  of  the  business  quite  as  well  as  I  ex 
pected  to,  but  it  was  her  way  of  working.  She  saw  that 
I  loved  my  companion  with  a  firmness  that  she  could 
not  shake,  and  that  it  really  was  not  in  me  to  quarrel 
with  him.  She  must  wait  for  favoring  time  and  circum 
stances,  and  resort  to  other  arts  to  accomplish  her  ends 
— arts  of  which  she  was  the  conscious  mistress.  She 
had  not  forbidden  me  to  see  him  and  hold  intercourse 
with  him.  She  knew,  indeed,  that  I  must  see  him,  and 
that  I  could  not  quarrel  with  him  without  offending  my 


Arthur  Bonnicastlc.  127 

father,  whose  guest  he  was — a  contingency  to  be  carefully 
avoided. 

I  knew,  however,  that  all  practical  means  would  be 
used  to  keep  me  out  of  his  company  during  his  stay  in 
Bradford,  and  I  was  not  surprised  to  be  met  the  next 
morning  with  a  face  cleared  from  all  traces  of  anger  and 
sullenness,  and  with  projects  for  the  occupation  of  m/ 
time. 

"  I  am  getting  to  be  an  old  woman,  Arthur,"  said  she, 
after  a  cheery  breakfast,  "  and  need  help  in  my  affairs, 
which  you  ought  to  be  capable  of  giving  me  now." 

I  assured  her  most  sincerely  that  nothing  would  give 
me  greater  pleasure  than  to  make  what  return  I  could 
for  the  kindness  she  had  shown  me. 

Accordingly,  she  brought  out  her  accounts,  and  as  she 
laid  down  her  books,  and  package  after  package  of 
papers,  she  said  :  "  J  am  going  to  let  you  into  some  of 
my  secrets.  All  that  you  see  here,  and  learn  of  my  af 
fairs,  is  to  be  entirely  confidential.  I  shall  show  you 
more  than  my  lawyer  knows,  and  more  than  anybody 
knows  beyond  myself." 

Then  she  opened  an  account-book,  and  in  a  neat  hand 
made  out  a  bill  for  rent  to  one  of  her  tenants.  This  was 
the  form  she  wished  me  to  follow  in  making  out  twenty- 
five  or  thirty  other  bills  which  she  pointed  out  to  me. 
As  I  did  the  work  with  much  painstaking,  the  task  gave 
me  employment  during  the  whole  of  the  morning.  At 
its  close,  we  went  over  it  together,  and  she  was  warm  in 
her  praises  of  my  handwriting  and  the  correctness  of  my 
transcript. 

After  dinner  she  told  me  she  would  like  to  have  me  look 
over  some  of  the  papers  which  she  had  left  on  the  table. 
"  It  is  possible,"  she  said,  "  that  you  may  find  something 
that  will  interest  you.  I  insist  only  on  two  conditions  : 
you  are  to  keep  secret  everything  you  learn,  and  ask  me 
no  question  about  what  may  most  excite  your  curiosity." 


128  Arthur  Bonnicastle. 

One  ponderous  bundle  of  papers  I  found  to  be  com 
posed  entirely  of  bonds  and  mortgages.  It  seemed  as 
if  she  had  her  hold  upon  nearly  every  desirable  piece 
of  property  in  the  town.  By  giving  me  a  view  of  this 
and  showing  me  her  rent-roll,  she  undoubtedly  intended 
to  exhibit  her  wealth,  which  was  certainly  very  much 
greater  than  I  had  suspected.  "  All  this  if  you  continue 
to  please  me,"  was  what  the  exhibition  meant ;  and, 
young  as  I  was,  I  knew  what  it  meant.  To  hold  these 
pledges  of  real  estate  and  to  own  this  rent-roll  was  to 
hold  power  ;  and  with  that  precious  package  in  my 
hands  there  came  to  me  my  first  ambition  for  power,  and 
a  recognition  of  that  thirst  to  gratify  which  so  many  men 
had  bartered  their  honor  and  their  souls.  In  that  book 
and  in  those  papers  lay  the  basis  of  the  old  lady's  self- 
assurance.  It  was  to  these  that  men  bowed  with  defer 
ential  respect  or  superfluous  fawning.  It  was  to  these 
that  fine  ladies  paid  their  devoirs  ;  and  a  vision  of  the 
future  showed  all  these  demonstrations  of  homage  trans 
ferred  to  me — a  young  man — with  life  all  before  me. 
The  prospect  held  not  only  these  but  a  thousand  de 
lights — travel  in  foreign  lands,  horses  and  household 
pets,  fine  equipage,  pictures,  brilliant  society,  and  some 
sweet,  unknown  angel  in  the  form  of  a  woman,  to  be 
loved  and  petted  and  draped  with  costly  fabrics  and  fed 
upon  dainties. 

I  floated  off  into  a  wild,  intoxicating  dream.  All  the 
possibilities  of  my  future  came  before  me.  In  my  im 
agination  I  already  stood  behind  that  great  bulwark 
against  a  thousand  ills  of  life  which  money  builds,  and 
felt  myself  above  the  petty  needs  that  harass  the  toil 
ing  multitude.  I  was  already  a  social  centre  and  a  king. 
Yet  after  all,  when  the  first  excitement  was  over,  and  I 
realized  the  condition  that  lay  between  me  and  the  reali 
zation  of  my  dreams — "  all  this  if  you  continue  to  please 
me  " — I  knew  and  felt  that  I  was  a  slave.  I  was  not  ir>}> 


Arthur  Bonnicastlc.  129 

own  :  I  had  been  purchased.     I  could  not  freely  follow 
even  the  impulses  of  my  own  natural  affection. 

Tiring  of  the  package  at  last,  and  of  the  thoughts  and 
emotions  it  excited,  I  turned  to  others.  One  after  an 
other  1  took  them  up  and  partly  examined  them,  but 
they  were  mostly  dead  documents — old  policies  of  insu 
rance  long  since  expired,  old  contracts  for  the  erection 
of  buildings  that  had  themselves  grown  old,  mortgages 
that  had  been  cancelled,  old  abstracts  of  title,  etc.,  etc. 
At  last  I  found,  at  the  bottom  of  the  pile,  a  package 
yellow  with  age  ;  and  I  gasped  with  astonishment  as  I 
read  on  the  back  of  the  first  paper  :  "  'James  Mansfield 
to  Peter  Bonnicastle."  I  drew  it  quickly  from  the  tape, 
and  saw  exposed  upon  the  next  paper  :  "  Julius  Wheeler 
to  Peter  Bonnicastle."  Thus  the  name  went  on  down 
through  the  whole  package.  All  the  papers  were  old, 
and  all  of  them  were  deeds — some  of  them  conveying 
thousands  of  acres  of  colonial  lands.  Thus  I  learned 
two  things  that  filled  me  with  such  delight  and  pride  as 
I  should  find  it  altogether  impossible  to  describe  ;  first, 
that  the  fortune  which  I  had  been  examining,  and  which 
I  had  a  tolerable  prospect  of  inheriting,  had  its  founda 
tions  laid  a  century  before  by  one  of  my  own  ancestors  ; 
and  second,  that  Mrs.  Sanderson  and  I  had  common 
blood  in  our  veins.  This  discovery  quite  restored  my 
self-respect,  because  I  should  arrive  at  my  inheritance 
by  at  least  a  show  of  right.  The  property  would  remain 
in  the  family  where  it  belonged,  and,  so  far  as  I  knew, 
no  member  of  the  family  would  have  a  better  right  to  it 
than  myself.  I  presumed  that  my  father  was  a  descend 
ant  of  this  same  Peter  Bonnicastle,  who  was  doubtless  a 
notable  man  in  his  time  ;  and  only  the  accidents  of  for 
tune  had  diverted  this  large  wealth  from  my  own  branch 
of  the  family. 

This  discovery  brought  up  to  my  memory  the  conver 
sations  that  had  taken  place  in  my  home  on  my  first  ar- 
6* 


130  Arthur  Bonnicastle. 

rival  in  the  town,  between  Mr.  Bradford  and  my  father. 
Here  was  where  the  "  blue  blood  "  came  from,  and  Mr. 
Bradford  had  known  about  this  all  the  time.  It  was  his 
hint  to  Mrs.  Sanderson  that  had  procured  for  me  my 
good  fortune.  My  first  impulse  was  to  thank  him  for 
his  service,  and  to  tell  him  that  I  probably  knew  as 
much  as  he  did  of  my  relations  to  Mrs.  Sanderson  ;  but 
the  seal  of  secrecy  was  upon  my  lips.  I  recalled  to  mind 
Mrs.  Sanderson's  astonishment  and  strange  behavior 
when  she  first  heard  my  father's  name,  and  thus  all  the 
riddles  of  that  first  interview  were  solved. 

Pride  of  wealth  and  power  had  now  firmly  united  it 
self  in  my  mind  with  pride  of  ancestry ;  and  though  there 
were  humiliating  considerations  connected  with  my  re 
lations  to  Mrs.  Sanderson,  my  self-respect  had  been 
wonderfully  strengthened,  and  I  found  that  my  heart 
was  going  out  to  the  little  old  lady  with  a  new  senti 
ment — a  sentiment  of  kinship,  if  not  of  love.  I  iden 
tified  myself  with  her  more  perfectly  than  I  had  hith 
erto  done.  She  had  placed  confidence  in  me,  she  had 
praised  my  work,  and  she  was  a  Bonnicastle. 

I  have  often  looked  back  upon  the  revelations  and 
the  history  of  that  day,  and  wondered  whether  it  was 
possible  that  she  had  foreseen  all  the  processes  of  mind 
through  which  I  passed,  and  intelligently  and  deliber 
ately  contrived  to  procure  them.  She  must  have  done 
BO.  There  was  not  an  instrument  wanting  for  the  pro 
duction  of  the  result  she  desired,  and  there  was  nothing 
wanting  in  the  result. 

The  afternoon  passed,  and  I  neither  went  home  nor 
felt  a  desire  to  do  so.  In  the  evening  she  invited  me  to 
read,  and  thus  I  spent  a  pleasant  hour  preparatory  to  an 
early  bed. 

"  You  have  been  a  real  comfort  to  me  to-day,  Ar 
thur,"  she  said,  as  I  kissed  her  forehead  and  bade  her 
£ood-nkTht. 


Arthur  Bonnicastlc.  131 

What  more  could  a  lad  who  loved  praise  usk  than 
this  ?  I  went  to  sleep  entirely  happy,  and  with  a  new 
determination  to  devote  myself  more  heartily  to  the  will 
and  the  interests  of  my  benefactress.  It  ceased  to  be  a 
great  matter  that  my  companion  for  five  years  was  in 
my 'father's  home,  and  I  saw  little  of  him.  I  was  em 
ployed  with  writing  and  with  business  errands  all  the 
time.  During  Henry's  visit  in  Bradford  I  was  in  and 
out  of  my  father's  house,  as  convenience  favored,  and 
always  while  on  an  errand  that  waited.  I  think  Henry 
appreciated  the  condition  of  affairs,  and  as  he  and 
Claire  were  on  charming  terms,  and  my  absence  gave 
him  more  time  with  her,  I  presume  that  he  did  not  miss 
me.  All  were  glad  to  see  me  useful,  and  happy  in  my 
usefulness. 

When  Henry  went  away  I  walked  down  to  bid  him 
farewell.  "  Now  don't  cry,  my  boy,"  said  Henry,  "  for 
I  am  coming  back ;  and  don't  be  excited  when  I  tell 
you  that  I  have  engaged  to  spend  the  winter  in  Brad 
ford.  I  was  wondering  where  I  could  find  a  school  to 
teach,  and  the  school  has  come  to  me,  examining  com 
mittee  and  all." 

I  was  delighted.  I  looked  at  Claire  with  the  unguard 
ed  impulse  of  a  boy,  and  it  brought  the  blood  into  her 
cheeks  painfully.  Henry  parted  with  her  very  quietly — 
indeed,  with  studied  quietness — but  was  warm  in  his 
thanks  to  my  father  and  mother  for  their  hospitality, 
and  hearty  with  the  boys,  with  whom  he  had  become  a 
great  favorite. 

I  saw  that  Henry  was  happy,  and  particularly  happy 
in  the  thought  of  returning.  As  the  stage-coach  rattled 
away,  he  kissed  his  hand  to  us  all,  and  shouted  "  An 
revoir!"  as  if  his  anticipations  of  pleasure  were  em 
braced  in  those  words  rather  than  in  the  fact  that  he 
was  homeward  bound. 


132  Artlnir  Bonnicastle. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

I  AM   INTRODUCED  TO   NEW  CHARACTERS  AND   ENTER 
THE   SHADOW   OF   THE   GREAT    BEDLCW    REVIVAL. 

WHILE  Henry  was  a  guest  at  my  old  home,  Mr.  Brad 
ford  resumed  his  visits  there.  That  he  had  had  much 
to  do  with  securing  my  father's  prosperity  in  his  calling, 
I  afterward  learned  with  gratitude,  but  he  had  done  it 
without  his  humble  friend's  knowledge,  and  while  stu 
diously  keeping  aloof  from  him.  I  never  could  imagine 
any  reason  for  his  policy  in  this  matter  except  the  desire 
to  keep  out  of  Mrs.  Sanderson's  way.  He  seemed,  too, 
to  have  a  special  interest  in  Henry  ;  and  it  soon  came 
to  my  ears  that  he  had  secured  for  him  his  place  as 
teacher  of  one  of  the  public  schools.  Twice  during  the 
young  man's  visit  at  Bradford,  he  had  called  and  invited 
him  to  an  evening  walk,  on  the  pretext  of  showing  him 
some  of  the  more  interesting  features  of  the  rapidly 
growing  little  city. 

Henry's  plan  for  study  was  coincident  with  my  own. 
We  had  both  calculated  to  perfect  our  preparation  for 
college  during  the  winter  and  following  spring,  under 
private  tuition  ;  and  this  work,  which  would  be  easy  for 
me,  was  to  be  accomplished  by  him  during  the  hours 
left  from  his  school  duties.  I  made  my  own  indepen 
dent  arrangements  for  recitation  and  direction,  as  1 
knew  such  a  course  would  best  please  Mrs.  Sanderson, 
and  left  him  to  do  the  same  on  his  return.  With  an  ac 
tive  temperament  and  the  new  stimulus  which  had  come 
to  me  with  a  better  knowledge  of  my  relations  and  pros 
pects,  I  found  my  mind  and  my  time  fully  absorbed. 
When  I  was  not  engaged  in  study,  I  was  actively  assist 
ing  Mrs.  Sanderson  in  her  affairs. 

One  morning  in  the  early  winter,  after  Henry  had  re- 


Arthur  Bonnicastle.  133 

turned,  and  had  been  for  a  week  or  two  engaged  in  his 
school,  I  met  Mr.  Bradford  on  the  street,  and  received 
from  him  a  cordial  invitation  to  take  tea  and  spend  the 
evening  at  his  home.  Without  telling  me  what  company 
I  should  meet,  he  simply  said  that  there  were  to  be  two 
or  three  young  people  beside  me,  and  that  he  wanted 
Mrs.  Bradford  to  know  me.  Up  to  this  time,  I  had 
made  comparatively  few  acquaintances  in  the  town,  and 
had  entered,  in  a  social  way,  very  few  homes.  The  in 
vitation  gave  me  a  great  deal  of  pleasure,  for  Mr.  Brad 
ford  stood  high  in  the  social  scale,  so  that  Mrs.  Sander 
son  could  make  no  plausible  objection  to  my  going.  I 
was  careful  not  to  speak  of  the  matter  to  Henry,  whom 
I  accidentally  met  during  the  day,  and  particularly  care 
ful  not  to  mention  it  in  my  father's  family,  for  fear  that 
Claire  might  feel  herself  slighted.  I  was  therefore  thor 
oughly  surprised  when  I  entered  Mrs.  Bradford's  cheer 
ful  drawing-room  to  find  there,  engaged  in  the  merriest 
conversation  with  the  family,  both  Henry  and  my  sister 
Claire.  Mr.  Bradford  rose  and  met  me  at  the  door  in 
his  own  hospitable,  hearty  way,  and,  grasping  my  right 
hand,  put  his  free  arm  around  me,  and  led  me  to  Mrs. 
Bradford  and  presented  me.  She  was  a  sweet,  pale- 
faced  little  woman,  with  large  blue  eyes,  with  which  she 
peered  into  mine  with  a  charming  look  of  curious  in 
quiry.  If  she  had  said  :  "I  have  long  wanted  to  know 
you,  and  am  fully  prepared  to  be  pleased  with  you  and 
to  love  you,"  she  would  only  have  put  into  words  the 
meaning  which  her  look  conveyed.  I  had  never  met 
with  a  greeting  that  more  thoroughly  delighted  me,  or 
placed  me  more  at  my  ease,  or  stimulated  me  more  to 
show  what  there  was  of  good  in  me. 

"  This  is  my  sister,  Miss  Lester,"  said  she;  turning  to 
a  prim  personage  sitting  by  the  fire. 

As  the  lady  did  not  rise,  I  bowed  to  her  at  a  distance, 
and  she  recognized  me  with  a  little  nod,  as  if  she  would 


134  Arthur  Bonnicastle. 

have  said  :  "  You  are  well  enough  for  a  boy,  but  I  don't 
see  the  propriety  of  putting  myself  out  for  such  young 
people." 

The  contrast  between  her  greeting  and  that  of  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Bradford  led  me  to  give  her  more  than  a  pass 
ing  look.  I  concluded  at  once  that  she  was  a  maiden  of 
an  age  more  advanced  than  she  should  be  willing  to 
confess,  and  a  person  with  ways  and  tempers  of  her  own. 
She  sat  alone,  trotting  her  knees,  looking  into  the  fire, 
and  knitting  with  such  emphasis  as  to  give  an  electric 
snap  to  every  pass  of  her  glittering  needles.  She  was 
larger  than  Mrs.  Bradford,  and  her  dark  hair  and  swarthy 
skin,  gathered  into  a  hundred  wrinkles  around  her  black 
eyes,  produced  a  strange  contrast  between  the  sisters. 

Mrs.  Bradford,  I  soon  learned,  was  one  of  those  women 
in  whom  the  motherly  instinct  is  so  strong  that  no  liv 
ing  thing  can  come  into  their  presence  without  exciting 
their  wish  to  care  for  it.  The  first  thing  she  did,  there 
fore,  after  I  had  exchanged  greetings,  was  to  set  a  chair 
for  me  at  the  fire,  because  she  knew  I  must  be  cold  and 
my  feet  must  be  wet.  When  I  assured  her  that  I  was 
neither  cold  nor  wet,  and  she  had  accepted  the  statement 
with  evident  incredulity  and  disappointment,  she  in 
sisted  that  I  should  change  my  chair  for  an  easier  one. 
I  did  this  to  accommodate  her,  and  then  she  took  a 
fancy  that  I  fed  a  headache  and  needed  a  bottle  of  salts. 
This  I  found  in  my  hand  before  I  knew  it. 

As  these  attentions  were  rendered,  they  were  regarded 
by  Mr.  Bradford  with  good-natured  toleration,  but  there 
issued  from  the  corner  where  "Aunt  Flick"  sat — for 
from  some  lip  I  had  already  caught  her  home-name — 
little  impatient  sniffs,  and  raps  upon  the  hearth  with  her 
trotting  heel. 

"  Jane  Bradford,"  Aunt  Flick  broke  out  at  last,  "I 
should  think  you'd  be  ashamed.  You've  done  nothing 
but  worry  that  boy  since  he  came  into  the  room.  One 


Arthur  Bonnicastle.  135 

would  think  he  was  a  baby,  and  that  it  was  your  business 
to  'tend  him.  Just  as  if  he  didn't  know  whether  he  was 
cold,  or  his  feet  were  wet,  or  his  head  ached  !  Just  as 
if  he  didn't  know  enough  to  go  to  the  fire  if  he  wanted 
to  !  Millie,  get  the  cat  for  your  mother,  and  bring  in  the 
dog.  Something  must  be  nursed,  of  course." 

"  Why,  Flick,  dear  !  "  was  all  Mrs.  Bradford  said,  but 
Mr.  Bradford  looked  amused,  and  there  came  from  a  cor 
ner  of  the  room  that  my  eyes  had  not  explored  the  merri 
est  young  laugh  imaginable.  I  had  no  doubt  as  to  its 
authorship.  Seeing  that  the  evening  was  to  be  an  in 
formal  one,  I  had  already  begun  to  wonder  where  the 
little  girl  might  be,  with  whose  face  I  had  made  a  brief 
acquaintance  five  years  before,  and  of  whom  I  had 
caught  occasional  glimpses  in  the  interval. 

Mr.  Bradford  looked  in  the  direction  of  the  laugh,  and 
exclaiming  :  "  You  saucy  puss  !  "  started  from  his  chair, 
and  found  her  seated  behind  an  ottoman,  where  she  had 
been  quietly  reading. 

"Oh,  father!  don't,  please!"  she  exclaimed,  as  he 
drew  her  from  her  retreat.  She  resisted  at  first,  but 
when  she  saw  that  she  was  fully  discovered,  she  con 
sented  to  be  led  forward  and  presented  to  us. 

"  When  a  child  is  still,"  said  Aunt  Flick,  "  I  can't  see 
the  use  of  stirring  her  up,  unless  it  is  to  send  her  to  bed." 

"  Why,  Flick,  dear!"  said  Mrs.  Bradford  again  ;  but 
Mr.  Bradford  took  no  notice  of  the  remark,  and  led  the 
little  girl  to  us.  She  shook  hands  with  us,  and  then  her 
mother  caught  and  pulled  her  into  her  lap. 

"Jane  Bradford,  why  will  you  burden  yourself  with 
that  heavy  child  ?  I  should  think  you  would  be  ill." 

Millie's  black  eyes  flashed,  but  she  said  nothing,  and 
I  had  an  opportunity  to  study  her  wonderful  beauty. 
As  I  looked  at  her,  I  could  think  of  nothing  but  a  gypsy. 
I  could  not  imagine  how  it  was  possible  that  she  should 
be  the  daughter  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Bradford.  It  was  as  if 


136  Arthur  Bonnicastle. 

some  unknown,  oriental  ancestor  had  reached  across  the 
generations  and  touched  her,  revealing  to  her  parents 
the  long-lost  secrets  of  their  own  blood.  Her  hair  hung 
in  raven  ringlets,  and  her  dark,  healthy  skin  was  as 
smooth  and  soft  as  the  petal  of  a  pansy.  She  had  put 
on  a  scarlet  jacket  for  comfort,  in  her  distant  corner, 
and  the  color  heightened  all  her  charms.  Her  face  was 
bright  with  intelligence,  and  her  full,  mobile  lips  and 
dimpled  chin  were  charged  with  the  prophecy  of  a  won 
derfully  beautiful  womanhood.  I  looked  at  her  quite 
enchanted,  and  I  am  sure  that  she  was  conscious  of  my 
scrutiny,  for  she  disengaged  herself  gently  from  her 
mother's  hold,  and  saying  that  she  wished  to  finish  the 
chapter  she  had  been  reading,  went  back  to  her  seclu 
sion. 

The  consciousness  of  her  presence  in  the  room  some 
how  destroyed  my  interest  in  the  other  members  of  the 
family,  and  as  I  felt  no  restraint  in  the  warm  and  free 
social  atmosphere  around  me,  I  soon  followed  her  to  her 
corner,  and  sat  down  upon  the  ottoman  behind  which, 
upon  a  hassock,  she  had  ensconced  herself. 

"  What  have  you  come  here  for?"  she  inquired  won- 
deringly,  looking  up  into  my  eyes. 

"  To  see  you,"  I  replied. 

"  Aren't  you  a  young  gentleman  ?  " 

"  No,  I  am  only  a  big  boy. 

"  Why,  that's  jolly,"  said  she.  "  Then  you  can  be 
my  company." 

"  Certainly,"  I  responded. 

"  Well,  then,  what  shall  we  do?  I'm  sure  I  don't 
know  how  to  play  with  a  boy.  I  never  did." 

"  We  can  talk,"  I  said.     "  What  a  funny  woman  your 
Aunt  Flick  is  !     Doesn't  she  bother  you  ? " 
'  She  paused,  looked  down,  then  looked  up  into  my 
face,  and  said  decidedly  :  "  I  don't  like  that  question." 

"  I  meant  nothing  ill  by  it,"  I  responded. 


Arthur  Bonnicastlc.  137 

"Yes  you  did;  you  meant  something  ill  to  Aunt 
Flick." 

"  But  I  thought  she  bothered  you,"  I  said. 

"Did  I  say  so?" 

"No." 

"  Well,  when  I  say  so,  I  shall  say  so  to  her.  Papa 
and  I  understand  it." 

So  this  was  my  little  girl,  with  a  feeling  of  family  loy 
alty  in  her  heart,  and  a  family  pride  that  did  not  choose 
to  discuss  with  strangers  the  foibles  of  kindred  and  the 
jars  of  home  life.  I  was  rebuked,  though  the  conscious 
ness  of  the  fact  came  too  slowly  to  excite  pain.  It  was 
her  Aunt  Flick  ;  and  a  stranger  had  no  right  to  question 
or  criticise.  That  was  what  I  gathered  from  her  words  ; 
and  there  was  so  much  that  charmed  me  in  this  fine 
revelation  of  character,  that  I  quite  lost  sight  of  the  fact 
that  I  had  been  snubbed. 

"  She  has  a  curious  name,  anyway,"  I  said. 

At  this  her  face  lighted  up,  and  she  exclaimed  :  "  Oh! 
I'll  tell  you  all  about  that.  When  I  was  a  little  girl, 
ever  so  much  smaller  than  I  am  now,  we  had  a  minister 
in  the  house.  You  know  mamma  takes  care  of  every 
body,  and  when  the  minister  came  to  town  he  came 
here,  because  nobody  else  would  have  him.  He  stayed 
here  ever  so  long,  and  used  to  say  grace  at  the  table  and 
have  prayers.  Aunt  Flick  was  sick  at  the  time,  and  he 
used  to  pray  every  morning  for  our  poor  afflicted  sister, 
and  papa  was  full  of  fun  with  her,  just  to  keep  up  her 
courage,  I  suppose,  and  called  her  '  'Flicted,'  and  then 
he  got  to  calling  her  '  Flick '  for  a  nickname,  and  now" 
we  all  call  her  Flick." 

"  But  does  she  like  it? " 

"  Oh,  she's  used  to  it,  and  don't  mind." 

Millie  had  closed  her  book,  and  sat  with  it  on  her 
lap,  her  large  black  eyes  looking  up  into  mine  in  a 
dreamv  way. 


138  Arthur  Bonnicastle. 

"  There's  one  thing  I  should  like  to  know,"  said  Millie, 
"  and  that  is,  where  all  the  books  came  from.  Were  they 
always  here,  like  the  ground,  or  did  somebody  make 
them  ? " 

"  Somebody  made  them,"  I  said. 

"  I  don't  believe  it,"  she  responded. 

"  But  if  nobody  made  them,  how  did  they  come  here  ?  " 

"  They  are  real  things  :   somebody  found  them." 

"  No,  I've  seen  men  who  wrote  books,  and  women 
too,"  I  said. 

"How  did  they  look?" 

"  Very  much  like  other  people." 

"  And  did  they  act  like  other  people  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Well,  that  shows  that  they  found  them.  They  are 
humbugs." 

I  laughed,  and  assured  her  that  she  was  mistaken. 

"Well,"  said  she,  "if  anybody  can  make  books  I 
can  ;  and  if  I  don't  get  married  and  keep  house  I  shall." 

Very  much  amused,  I  asked  her  which  walk  of  life  she 
would  prefer. 

"  I  think  I  should  prefer  to  be  married." 

"  You  are  sensible,"  I  said. 

"  Not  to  any  boy  or  young  man,  though,"  responded 
the  child,  with  peculiar  and  suggestive  emphasis. 

"And  why  not  ?" 

"  They  are  so  silly  ;  "  and  she  gave  her  curls  a  dis 
dainful  toss.  "  I  shall  marry  a  big  man  like  papa,  with 
gray  whiskers — somebody  that  I  can  adore,  you  know." 

"  Well,  then,  I  think  you  had  better  not  be  married," 
I  replied.  "  Perhaps,  after  all,  you  had  better  write 
books." 

"  If  I  should  ever  write  a  book,"  said  Millie,  looking 
out  of  the  window,  as  if  she  were  reviewing  the  long 
chain  of  characters  and  incidents  of  which  it  was  to  be 
composed,  "  I  should  begin  at  the  foundation  of  the 


ArtJiur  Bonnicastle.  139 

world,  and  come  up  through  Asia,  or  Arabia,  or  Cappa- 
docia  .  .  .  and  stop  under  palm-trees  .  .  .  and 
have  a  lot  of  camels  with  bells.  ...  I  should  have 
a  young  man  with  a  fez  and  an  old  man  with  a  long 
beard,  and  a  chibouk,  and  a  milk-white  steed. 
I  should  have  a  maiden  too  beautiful  for  anything,  and 
an  Arab  chieftain  with  a  military  company  on  horse 
back,  kicking  up  a  great  dust  in  the  desert,  and  coming 
after  her.  .  .  .  And  then  I  should  have  some  sort 
of  an  escape,  and  I  should  hide  the  maiden  in  a  tower 
somewhere  on  the  banks  of  the  Danube.  .  .  .  And 
then  I'm  sure  I  don't  know  what  I  should  do  with  her." 

"  You  would  marry  her  to  the  young  man  with  the 
fez,  wouldn't  you  ? "  I  suggested. 

"  Perhaps — if  I  didn't  conclude  to  kill  him." 

"  You  couldn't  be  so  cruel  as  that,"  I  said. 

"  Why,  that's  the  fun  of  it  :  you  can  stab  a  man  right 
through  the  heart  in  a  book,  and  spill  every  drop  of  his 
blood  without  hurting  him  a  particle." 

"  Well,"  I  said,  "  I  don't  see  but  "you  have  made  a 
book  already." 

"  Would  that  really  be  a  book  ?  "  she  asked,  looking 
eagerly  into  my  face. 

"  I  should  think  so,"  I  replied. 

"  Then  it's  just  as  I  thought  it  was.  I  didn't  make  a 
bit  of  it.  I  saw  it.  I  found  it.  They're  everywhere, 
and  people  see  them,  just  like  flowers,  and  pick  them 
up  and  press  them." 

It  was  not  until  years  after  this  that  with  my  slower 
masculine  intellect  and  feebler  instincts  I  appreciated 
the  beauty  of  this  revelation  and  the  marvellous  insight 
which  it  betrayed.  These  crude  tropical  fancies  she 
could  not  entertain  with  any  sense  of  ownership  or  au 
thorship.  They  came  of  themselves,  in  gorgeous  forms 
and  impressive  combinations,  and  passed  before  her 
vision.  She  talked  of  what  she  saw — not  of  what  she 


140  Arthur  Bonnicastle, 

made.  I  was  charmed  by  her  vivacity,  acuteness, 
frankness  and  spirit,  and  really  felt  that  the  older  per 
sons  at  the  other  end  of  the  drawing-room  were  talking 
commonplaces  compared  with  Millie's  utterances.  We 
conversed  a  long  time  upon  many  things  ;  and  what  im 
pressed  me  most,  perhaps,  was  that  she  was  living  the 
life  of  a  woman  and  thinking  the  thoughts  of  a  woman — • 
incompletely,  of  course,  and  unrecognized  by  her  own 
family  ! 

When  we  were  called  to  tea,  she  rose  up  quickly  and 
whispered  in  my  ear:  ."  I  like  to  talk  with  you."  As 
she  came  around  the  end  of  the  ottoman  I  offered  her 
my  arm,  in  the  manner  with  which  my  school  habits  had 
familiarized  me.  She  took  it  without  the  slightest  hesi 
tation,  and  put  on  the  air  of  a  grand  lady. 

"  WThy  this  is  like  a  book,  isn't  it  ?  "  said  she.  Then 
she  pressed  my  arm,  and  said  :  "  Notice  Aunt  Flick, 
please." 

Aunt  Flick  had  seen  us  from  the  start,  and  stood  with 
elevated  nostrils.  The  sight  was  one  which  evidently 
excited  her  beyond  the  power  of  expression.  She  could 
do  nothing  but  sniff  as  we  approached  her.  I  saw  a 
merry  twinkle  in  Mr.  Bradford's  eyes,  and  noticed  that 
as  he  had  Claire  on  his  arm,  and  Henry  was  leading  out 
Mrs.  Bradford,  Aunt  Flick  was  left  alone.  Without  a 
moment's  thought,  I  walked  with  Millie  straight  to  her, 
and  offered  her  my  other  arm. 

Aunt  Flick  was  thunderstruck,  and  at  first  could 
only  say  :  "  Well !  well !  well !  "  with  long  pauses  be 
tween.  Then  she  found  strength  to  say  :  "  For  all  the 
world  like  a  pair  of  young  monkeys  !  No,  I  thank  you  ; 
when  I  want  a  cane  I  won't  choose  a  corn-stalk.  I've 
walked  alone  in  the  world  so  far,  and  I  think  I  can  do  it 
the  rest  of  the  way." 

So  Aunt  Flick  followed  us  out,  less  vexed  than  amused, 
I  am  sure. 


Arthur  Bonnicastlc.  141 

There  are  two  things  which,  during  all  my  life,  have 
been  more  suggestive  to  me  of  home  comforts  and  home 
delights  than  any  others,  viz. :  A  blazing  fire  upon  the 
hearth,  and  the  odor  of  fresh  toast.  I  found  both  in  Mrs. 
Bradford's  supper-room,  for  a  red-cheeked  lass  with  an 
old-fashioned  toasting-jack  in  her  hand  was  browning  the 
whitest  bread  before  our  eyes,  and  preparing  to  bear  it 
hot  to  our  plates.  The  subtle  odor  had  reached  me 
first  in  the  far  corner  of  the  drawing-room,  and  had  grown 
more  stimulating  to  appetite  and  the  sense  of  social  and 
home  comfort  as  I  approached  its  source. 

The  fire  upon  the  hearth  is  the  centre  and  symbol  of 
the  family  life.  When  the  fire  in  a  house  goes  out,  it  is 
because  the  life  has  gone  out.  Somewhere  in  every 
house  it  burns,  and  burns,  in  constant  service ;  and 
every  chimney  that  sends  its  incense  heavenward  speaks 
of  an  altar  inscribed  to  Love  and  Home.  And  .vhen  it 
ceases  to  burn,  it  is  because  the  altar  is  forsaken.  Bread 
is  the  symbol  of  that  beautiful  ministry  of  God  to  humar. 
sustenance,  which,  properly  apprehended,  transforms 
the  homeliest  meal  into  a  sacrament.  What  wonder, 
then,  that  when  the  bread  of  life  and  the  fire  on  the 
hearth  meet,  they  should  interpret  and  reveal  each  other 
in  an  odor  sweeter  than  violets — an  odor  so  subtle  and 
suggestive  that  the  heart  breathes  it  rather  than  the 
sense  ! 

This  is  all  stuff  and  sentiment,  I  suppose  ;  but  I  doubt 
whether  the  scent  of  toast  has  reached  my  nostrils  since 
that  evening  without  recalling  that  scene  of  charming 
domestic  life  and  comfort.  It  s'eemed.as  if  all  the  world 
were  in  that  room — and,  indeed,  it  was  aU  there — all 
that,  for  the  hour,  we  could  appropriate. 

As  we  took  our  seats  at  the  table,  I  found  myself  by 
the  side  of  Millie  and  opposite  to  Aunt  Flick.  Then 
began  on  the  part  of  the  latter  personage,  a  pantomimic 
lecture  to  her  niece.  First  she  straightened  herself  in 


142  Arthur  Bonnicastle. 

her  chair,  throwing  out  her  chest  and  holding  in  hel 
chin — a  performance  which  Millie  imitated.  Then  she 
executed  the  motion  of  putting  some  stray  hair  behind 
her  ear.  Millie  did  the  same.  Then  she  tucked  an  im 
aginary  napkin  into  her  neck.  Millie  obeyed  the  direc 
tion  thus  conveyed.  Then  she  examined  her  knife,  and 
finding  that  it  did  not  suit  her,  sent  it  away  and  received 
one  that  did. 

In  the  meantime,  Mrs.  Bradford  had  begun  to  dis 
pense  the  hospitalities  of  the  table.  She  was  very  cheer 
ful  ;  indeed,  she  was  so  happy  herself  that  she  over 
flowed  with  assiduities  than  ran  far  into  superfluities. 
She  was  afraid  the  toast  was  not  hot,  or  that  the  tea  was 
not  sweet  enough,  or  that  she  had  forgotten  the  sugar 
altogether,  or  that  everybody  was  not  properly  waited 
upon  and  supplied.  1  could  see  that  all  this  rasped  Aunt 
Flick  to  desperation.  The  sniffs,  which  were  light  at 
first,  grew  more  impatient,  and  after  Mrs.  Bradford  had 
urged  half  a  dozen  things  upon  me  that  I  did  not  want, 
and  was  obliged  to  decline,  the  fiery  spinster  burst  out 
with  : 

"  Wouldn't  you  like  to  read  the  Declaration  of  Inde 
pendence  ?  Wouldn't  you  like  to  repeat  the  Ten  Com1 
mandments  ?  Wouldn't  you  like  a  yard  of  calico  ?  Do 
have  a  spoon  to  eat  your  toast  with  ?  Just  a  trifle  more 
salt  in  your  tea,  please  ?  " 

All  this  was  delivered  without  the  slightest  hesitation, 
and  with  a  rapidity  that  was  fairly  bewildering.  Poor 
Millie  was  overcome  by  the  comical  aspect  of  the  matter, 
and  broke  out  into  an  irrepressible  laugh,  which  was  so 
hearty  that  it  became  contagious,  and  all  of  us  laughed 
together  except  Aunt  Flick,  who  devoted  herself  to  hei 
supper  with  imperturbable  gravity. 

"Why,  Flick,  dear!"  was  all  that  Mrs.  Bradford 
could  say  to  this  outburst  of  scornful  criticism  upon  her 
well-meant  courtesies. 


Arthur  Bonnicasllc.  143 

Just  as  we  were  recovering  from  our  merriment,  there 
was  a  loud  knock  at  the  street  door.  The  girl  with  the 
toasting-jack  dropped  her  implement  to  answer  the  un 
welcome  summons.  We  all  involuntarily  listened,  and 
learned  from  his  voice  that  the  intruder  was  a  rnan.  We 
heard  him  enter  the  drawing-room,  and  then  the  girl 
came  in  and  said  that  Mr.  Grimshaw  had  called  upon 
the  family.  In  the  general  confusion  that  followed  the 
announcement,  Millie  leaned  over  to  me  and  said  :  "  It's 
the  very  man  who  used  to  pray  for  Aunt  Flick." 

Mr.  Bradford,  of  course,  brought  him  to  the  tea-table 
at  once,  where  room  was  made  for  him  by  the  side  of 
Aunt  Flick,  and  a  plate  laid.  The  first  thing  he  did 
was  to  swallow  a  cup  of  hot  tea  almost  at  a  gulp,  and  to 
send  back  the  empty  vessel  to  be  refilled.  Then  he 
spread  with  butter  a  whole  piece  of  toast,  which  disap 
peared  in  a  wonderfully  brief  space  of  time.  Until  his 
hunger  was  appeased  he  did  not  seem  disposed  to  talk, 
replying  to  such  questions  as  were  propounded  to  him 
concerning  himself  and  his  family  in  monosyllables. 

Rev.  Mr.  Grimshaw  was  the  minister  of  a  struggling 
Congregational  church  in  Bradford.  He  had  been  hard 
at  work  for  half  a  dozen  years  with  indifferent  success, 
waiting  for  some  manifestation  of  the  Master  which  would 
show  him  that  his  service  and  sacrifice  had  been  ac 
cepted.  I  had  heard  him  preach  at  different  times  dur 
ing  my  vacation  visits,  though  Mrs.  Sanderson  did  not 
attend  upon  his  ministry  ;  and  he  had  always  impressed 
me  as  a  man  who  was  running  some  sort  of  a  machine. 
He  had  a  great  deal  to  say  about  "  the  plan  of  salva 
tion  "  and  the  doctrines  covered  by  his  creed.  I  cannot 
aver  that  he  ever  interested  me.  Indeed,  I  may  say  that 
he  always  confused  me.  Religion,  as  it  had  been  pre 
sented  to  my  mind,  had  been  a  simple  thing — so  simple 
that  a  child  might  understand  it.  My  Father  in  Heaven 
loved  me  ;  Jesus  Christ  had  died  for  me.  Loving  both, 


144  Arthur  Bonnicastle. 

irusting  both,  and  serving  both  by  worship,  and  by  af 
fectionate  and  helpful  good-will  toward  all  around  ma 
was  religion,  as  I  had  learned  it;  and  I  never  came  from 
hearing  one  of  Mr.  Grimshaw's  sermons  without  rinding 
it  difficult  to  get  back  upon  my  simple  ground  of  faith. 
Religion,  as  he  preached  it,  was  such  a  tremendous  and 
such  a  mysterious  thing  in  its  beginnings  ;  it  involved 
such  a  complicated  structure  of  belief;  it  divided  God 
into  such  opposing  forces  of  justice  and  mercy  ;  it  de 
pended  upon  such  awful  processes  of  feeling  j  it  was  so 
much  the  product  of  a  profoundly  ingenious  scheme, 
that  his  sermons  always  puzzled  me. 

As  he  sat  before  me  that  evening,  pale-faced  and  thin, 
with  his  intense,  earnest  eyes  and  solemn  bearing  and 
self-crucified  expression,  I  could  not  doubt  his  purity  or 
his  sincerity.  There  was  something  in  him  that  awoke 
my  respect  and  my  sympathy. 

Our  first  talk  touched  only  commonplaces,  but  as  the 
meal  drew  toward  its  close  he  ingeniously  led  the  con 
versation  into  religious  channels. 

"  There  is  a  very  tender  and  solemn  state  of  feeling 
in  the  church,"  said  Mr.  Grimshaw,  "and  a  great  deal 
of  self-examination  and  prayer.  The  careless  are  be 
ginning  to  be  thoughtful,  and  the  backsliders  are  return 
ing  to  their  first  love.  I  most  devoutly  trust  that  we  are 
going  to  have  a  season  of  refreshment.  It  is  a  time  when 
all  those  who  have  named  the  name  of  the  Lord  should 
make  themselves  ready  for  His  coming." 

Aunt  Flick  started  from  her  chair  exactly  as  if  she 
were  about  to  put  on  her  hat  and  cloak ;  and  I  think 
that  was  really  her  impulse  ;  but  she  sat  down  again  and 
listened  intently. 

I  could  not  fail  to  see  that  this  turn  in  the  conversa 
tion  was  not  relished  by  Mr.  Bradford  ;  but  Mrs.  Brad 
ford  and  Aunt  Flick  were  interested,  and  I  noticed  ao 
excited  look  upon  the  faces  of  both  Henry  and  Claire. 


Arthur  Bonnicastle.  145 

Mrs.  Bradford,  in  her  simplicity,  made  a  most  natural 
response  to  the  minister's  communication  in  the  words  : 
"  You  must  be  exceedingly  delighted,  Mr.  Grimshaw." 
She  said  this  very  sweetly,  and  with  her  cheerful  smile 
making  her  whole  countenance  light. 

"  Jane  Bradford  !  "  exclaimed  Aunt  Flick,  "  I  believe 
you  would  smile  if  anybody  were  to  tell  you  the  judg 
ment-day  had  come." 

Mrs.  Bradford  did  not  say  this  time  :  "  Why,  Flick, 
dear!"  but  she  said  with  great  tenderness  :  "  When  I 
remember  who  is  to  judge  me,  and  to  whom  I  have  com 
mitted  myself,  I  think  I  should." 

"  Well,  I  don't  know  how  anybody  can  make  light  of 
such  awful  things,"  responded  Aunt  Flick. 

"  Of  course,  I  am  rejoiced,"  said  Mr.  Grimshaw,  at 
last  getting  his  chance  to  speak,  "  but  my  joy  is  tem 
pered  by  the  great  responsibility  that  rests  upon  me, 
and  by  a  sense  of  the  lost  condition  of  the  multitudes 
around  me." 

"  In  reality,"  Mr.  Bradford  broke  in,  "you  don't  feel 
quite  so  much  like  singing  as  the  angels  did  when  the 
Saviour  came  to  redeem  the  world.  But  then,  they 
probably  had  no  such  sense  of  responsibility  as  you 
have.  Perhaps  they  didn't  appreciate  the  situation.  It 
has  always  seemed  to  me,  however,  as  if  that  which 
would  set  an  angel  singing — a  being  who  ought  to  see  a 
little  further  forward  and  backward  than  we  can,  and  a 
little  deeper  down  and  higher  up — ought  to  set  men  and 
women  singing.  I  confess  that  I  don't  understand  the 
long  faces  and  the  superstitious  solemnities  of  what  is 
called  a  season  of  refreshment.  If  the  Lord  is  with  his 
own,  they  ought  to  be  glad  and  give  him  such  a  greeting 
as  will  induce  him  to  remain.  I  really  do  not  wonder 
that  he  flies  from  many  congregations  that  I  have  seen, 
or  that  he  seems  to  resist  their  entreaties  that  he  will 
stay.  Half  the  prayers  that  I  hear  sound  like  abject 
7 


146  Arthur  Bonnicastlc. 

beseechings  for  the  presence  of  One  who  is  very  far  off, 
and  very  unwilling  to  come." 

This  free  expression  on  the  part  of  Mr.  Bradford  would 
have  surprised  me  had  I  not  just  learned  that  the  minis 
ter  had  at  one  time  been  a  member  of  his  family,  with 
whom  he  had  been  on  familiar  terms ;  yet  I  knew  that 
he  did  not  profess  to  be  a  religious  man,  and  that  his 
view  of  the  matter,  whether  sound  or  otherwise,  was  from 
the  outside.  There  was  a  subtle  touch  of  satire  in  his 
words,  too,  that  did  not  altogether  please  me  ;  but  I  did 
not  see  what  reply  could  be  made  to  it. 

"  Aunt  Flick  was  evidently  somewhat  afraid  of  Mr. 
Bradford,  and  simply  said  :  "  I  hope  you  will  remember 
that  your  child  is  present." 

"  Yes,  I  do  remember  it,"  said  he,  "  and  what  I  say 
about  it  is  as  much  for  her  ears  as  for  anybody's.  And 
I  remember  too,  that,  during  all  my  boyhood,  I  was  made 
afraid  of  religion.  I  wish  to  save  her,  if  I  can,  from  such 
a  curse.  I  have  read  that  when  the  Saviour  was  upon 
the  earth,  he  took  little  children  in  his  arms  and  blessed 
them,  and  went  so  far  as  to  say  that  of  such  was  the 
kingdom  of  heaven.  If  he  were  to  come  to  the  earth 
again,  he  would  be  as  apt  to  take  my  child  upon  his 
knee  as  any  man's  and  bless  her,  and  repeat  over  her 
the  same  words  ;  and  if  he  manifests  his  presence 
among  us  in  any  way,  I  do  not  wish  to  have  her  kept 
away  from  him  by  the  impression  that  there  is  some 
thing  awful  in  the  fact  that  he  is  here.  My  God !  if  I 
could  believe  that  the  Lord  of  Heaven  and  Earth  were 
really  in  Bradford,  with  a  dispensation  of  faith  and 
mercy  and  love  in  his  hands  for  me  and  mine,  do  you 
think  I  would  groan  and  look  gloomy  over  it  ?  Why,  I 
couldn't  eat ;  I  couldn't  sleep  ;  I  couldn't  refrain  from 
shouting  and  singing." 

Mr.  Grimshaw  was  evidently  touched  and  impressed 
by  Mr.  Bradford's  exhibition  of  strong  feeling,  and  said 


Arthur  Bonnicastle.  147 

ih  a  calm,  judicial  way  that  it  was  impossible  that  one 
outside  of  the  church  should  comprehend  and  appreciate 
the  feelings  that  exercised  him  and  the  church  generally. 
The  welfare  of  the  unconverted  depended  so  much  upon 
a  revival  of  religion  within  the  church — it  brought  such 
tremendous  responsibilities  and  such  great  duties — that 
Christian  men  and  women  were  weighed  down  with  so 
lemnity.  The  issues  of  eternal  life  and  death  were  tre 
mendous  issues.  Even  if  the  angels  sang,  Jesus  suffered 
in  the  garden,  and  bore  the  cross  on  Calvary  ;  and  Chris 
tians  who  are  worthy  must  suffer  and  bear  the  cross  also. 

"  Mr.  Grimshaw,"  said  Mr.  Bradford,  still  earnest  and 
excited,  "  I  have  heard  from  your  own  lips  that  the  fact 
that  Christ  was  to  suffer  and  bear  the  cross  was  at  least 
a  part  of  the  inspiration  of  the  song  which  the  angels 
sang.  He  suffered  and  bore  the  cross  that  men  might 
not  suffer.  That  is  one  of  the  essential  parts  of  your 
creed.  He  suffered  that  he  might  give  peace  to  the 
world,  and  bring  life  and  immortality  to  light.  You  have 
taught  me  that  he  did  not  come  to  torment  the  world, 
but  to  save  it.  The  religion  which  Christendom  holds 
in  theory  is  a  religion  of  unbounded  peace  and  joy  ;  that 
which  it  holds  in  fact  is  one  of  torture  and  gloom  ;  and  I 
do  not  hesitate  to  say  that  if  the  Christian  world  were  a 
peaceful  and  joyous  world,  taking  all  the  good  things  of 
this  life  in  gratitude  and  gladness,  while  holding  itself 
pure  from  its  corruptions,  and  not  only  not  fearing  death, 
but  looking  forward  with  unwavering  faith  and  hope  to 
another  and  a  happier  life  beyond,  the  revivals  which  it 
struggles  for  would  be  perpetual,  and  the  millennium 
which  it  prays  for  would  come." 

Then  Mr.  Bradford,  who  sat  near  enough  to  touch  me, 
laid  his  hand  upon  my  shoulder,  and  said  :  "  Boy,  look  at 
your  father,  if  you  wish  to  know  what  my  ideal  of  a 
Christian  is — a  man  of  cheerfulness,  trust  and  hope, 
under  discouragements  that  would  kill  me.  Such  exam- 


148  Arthur  Bonnicastle. 

pies  save  me  from  utter  infidelity  and  despair  ad, 
thank  God,  I  have  one  such  in  my  own  home." 

His  eyes  filled  with  tears  as  he  turned  them  up  ,n  his 
wife,  who  sat  watching  him  with  intense  sympatny  and 
affection,  while  he  frankly  poured  out  his  heart  and 
thought. 

"  I  suppose,"  said  the  minister,  "  that  we  should  get  no 
nearer  together  in  the  discussion  of  this  question  than  we 
did  when  we  were  more  in  one  another's  company,  and 
perhaps  it  would  be  well  not  to  pursue  it.  You  undoubt 
edly  see  the  truth  in  a  single  aspect,  Mr.  Bradford  ;  and 
you  will  pardon  me  for  saying  that  you  cannot  see  it  in 
the  aspects  which  it  presents  to  me.  I  came  in  partly  to 
let  you  and  your  family  know  of  our  plans,  and  to  beg 
you  to  attend  our  services  faithfully.  I  hope  these  young 
people,  too,  will  not  fail  to  put  themselves  in  the  way  of 
religious  influence.  Now  is  their  time.  To-morrow  or 
next  year  it  may  be  too  late.  Many  a  poor  soul  is  obliged 
to  take  up  the  lament  after  every  revival  :  '  The  harvest  is 
past,  the  summer  is  ended,  and  my  soul  is  not  saved.' 
Before  the  spirit  takes  its  flight,  all  these  precious  youth 
ought  to  be  gathered  into  the  kingdom." 

I  could  not  doubt  the  sincerity  of  this  closing  utter 
ance,  for  it  was  earnest  and  tearful.  In  truth,  I  was 
deeply  moved  by  it  ;  for  while  Mr.  Bradford  carried  my 
judgment  and  opened  before  me  a  beautiful  life,  I  had 
always  entertained  great  reverence  for  ministers,  and 
found  Mr.  Grimshaw's  views  and  feelings  most  in  con 
sonance  with  those  I  had  been  used  to  hear  proclaimed 
from  the  pulpit. 

The  fact  that  a  revival  was  in  progress  in  some  of  the 
churches  of  the  town,  had  already  come  to  my  ears. 

I  had  seen  throngs  pouring  into  or  coming  out  of 
church-doors  and  lecture-rooms  during  other  days  than 
Sunday  ;  and  a  vague  uneasiness  had  possessed  me  for 
several  weeks.  A  cloud  had  arisen  upon  my  life.  I 


Arthur  Bonnicastle.  149 

may  even  confess  that  my  heart  had  rebelled  in  secret 
against  an  influence  which  promised  to  interfere  with 
the  social  pleasures  and  the  progress  in  study  which  I 
nad  anticipated  for  the  winter.  The  cloud  came  nearer 
to  me  now,  and  in  Mr.  Grimshaw's  presence  quite  over 
shadowed  me.  Was  I  moved  by  sympathy  ?  Was  I 
moved  by  the  spirit  of  the  Almighty  ?  Was  supersti- 
iious  fear  at  the  bottom  of  it  all  ?  Whatever  it  was,  my 
soul  had  crossed  the  line  of  that  circle  of  passion  and 
experience  in  whose  centre  a  great  multitude  were  grop 
ing  and  crying  in  the  darkness,  and  striving  to  get  a 
vision  of  the  Father's  face.  I  realized  the  fact  then  and 
there.  I  felt  that  a  crisis  in  my  life  was  approaching. 

On  Aunt  Flick's  face  there  came  a  look  of  rigid  de 
termination.  She  was  entirely  ready  to  work,  and  in 
quired  of  Mr.  Grimshaw  what  his  plans  were. 

"  I  have  felt,"  said  he,  "  that  the  labor  and  responsi 
bility  are  too  great  for  me  to  bear  alone,  and,  after  a 
consultation  with  our  principal  men,  have  concluded  to 
send  for  Mr.  Bedlovv,  the  evangelist,  to  assist  me." 

"  Mr.  Grimshaw,"  said  Mr.  Bradford,  "  I  suppose  it 
is  none  of  my  business,  but  I  am  sorry  you  have  done 
this.  I  have  no  faith  in  the  man  or  his  methods.  Mrs. 
Bradford  and  her  sister  will  attend  his  preaching  if  they 
choose  :  I  am  not  afraid  that  they  will  be  harmed  ;  but 
I  decidedly  refuse  to  have  this  child  of  mine  subjected 
to  his  processes.  Why  parents  will  consent  to  yield 
their  children  to  the  spiritual  manipulation  of  strangers 
I  cannot  conceive." 

Mr.  Grimshaw  smiled  sadly,  and  said  :  "  You  assume 
a  grave  responsibility,  Mr.  Bradford." 

"/assume  a  grave  responsibility?"  exclaimed  Mr. 
Bradford  :  "  I  had  the  impression  that  I  relieved  you  of 
one.  No,  leave  the  child  alone.  She  is  safe  with  her 
mother  ;  and  no  such  man  as  Mr.  Bedlow  shall  have  the 
handling  of  her  sensibilities." 


150  Artkur  Bonnicastle. 

We  had  sat  a  long  time  at  the  tea-table,  and  as  we 
rose  and  adjourned  to  the  drawing-room  Mr.  Grimshaw 
took  sudden  leave  on  the  plea  that  he  had  devoted  the 
evening  to  many  other  calls  yet  to  be  made.  He  was 
very  solemn  in  his  leave-taking,  and  for  some  time  after 
he  left  we  sat  in  silence.  Then  Mr.  Bradford  rose  and 
paced  the  drawing-room  back,  and  forth,  his  counte 
nance  full  of  perplexity  and  pain.  I  could  see  plainly 
that  a  storm  of  utterance  was  gathering,  but  whether  it 
would  burst  in  thunder  and  torrent,  or  open  with  strong 
and  healing  rain,  was  doubtful. 

At  length  he  paused,  and  said  :  "  I  suppose  that  as  a 
man  old  enough  to  be  the  father  of  all  these  young  peo 
ple  I  ought  to  say  frankly  what  I  feel  in  regard  to  this 
subject.  I  do  not  believe  it  is  right  for  me  to  shut  my 
mouth  tight  upon  my  convictions.  My  own  measure  of 
faith  is  small.  I  wish  to  God  it  were  larger,  and  I  am 
encouraged  to  believe  that  it  is  slowly  strengthening.  I 
am  perfectly  aware  that  I  lack  peace  in  the  exact  pro 
portion  that  I  lack  faith ;  and  so  does  every  man,  no 
matter  how  much  he  may  boast.  Faith  is  the  natural 
and  only  healthy  attitude  of  the  soul.  I  would  go 
through  anything  to  win  it,  but  such  men  as  Grimshaw 
and  Eedlow  cannot  help  me.  They  simply  distress  and 
disgust  me.  Their  whole  conception  of  Christianity  is 
cramped  and  mean,  and  their  methods  of  operation  are 
unwise  and  unworthy.  I  know  how  Mr.  Grimshaw  feels  : 
he  knows  that  revivals  are  in  progress  in  the  other 
churches,  and  sees  that  his  own  congregation  is  attracted 
to  their  meetings.  He  finds  it  impossible  to  keep  the 
tide  from  retiring  from  his  church,  and  feels  the  neces 
sity  of  doing  something  extraordinary  to  make  it  one  of 
the  centres  and  receivers  of  the  new  influence.  He  has 
been  at  work  faithfully,  in  his  way,  for  years,  and  de 
sires  to  see  the  harvest  which  he  has  been  trying  to 
rear  gathered  in.  So  he  sends  for  Bedlow.  Now  I  know 


Arthur  Bonnicastle.  151 

all  about  these  Bedlow  revivals.  They  come  when  he 
comes,  and  they  go  when  he  goes.  His  mustard-seed 
sprouts  at  once,  and  grows  into  a  great  tree,  which 
withers  and  dies  as  soon  as  he  ceases  to  breathe  upon  it. 
I  never  knew  an  instance  in  which  a  church  that  had 
been  raised  out  of  the  mire  by  his  influence  did  not  sink 
back  into  a  deeper  indifference  after  he  had  left  it,  and 
that  by  a  process  which  is  just  as  natural  as  it  is  inevita 
ble.  An  artificial  excitement  is  an  artificial  exhaustion. 
He  breaks  up  and  ruins  processes  of  religious  education 
that  otherwise  would  have  gone  on  to  perfection.  He 
has  one  process  for  the  imbruted,  the  ignorant,  the  vi 
cious,  the  stolid,  the  sensitive,  the  delicate,  the  weak 
and  the  strong,  the  old  and  the  young.  I  know  it  is  said 
that  the  spirit  of  God  is  with  him,  and  I  hope  it  is  ;  but 
one  poor  man  like  him  does  not  monopolize  the  spirit  of 
God,  I  trust ;  nor  does  that  spirit  refuse  to  stay  where  he 
is  not.  No,  it  is  Bedlow — it's  all  Bedlow  ;  and  the  fact 
that  a  revival  got  up  under  his  influence  ceases  when  he 
retires,  proves  that  it  is  all  Bedlow,  and  accounts  for  the 
miserable  show  of  permanently  good  results." 

There  was  great  respect  for  Mr.  Bradford  in  his  own 
household,  and  there  was  great  respect  for  him  in  the 
hearts  of  the  three  young  people  who  listened  to  him  as 
comparative  strangers  ;  and  when  he  stopped,  and  sank 
into  an  arm-chair,  looking  into  the  fire,  and  shading  his 
face  with  his  two  hands,  no  one  broke  the  silence.  Aunt 
Flick  had  taken  to  her  corner  and  her  knitting,  and  Mrs. 
Bradford  sat  with  her  hands  on  her  lap,  as  if  waiting  for 
something  further. 

At  length  Mr.  Bradford  looked  up  with  a  smile,  and 
regarding  the  silent  group  before  him,  said  :  "  Upon  my 
word,  we  are  not  having  a  very  merry  evening." 

"  I  assure  you,"  responded  Henry,  "  that  I  have  en 
joyed  every  moment  of  it.  I  could  hear  you  talk  all 
night." 


152  Arthur  Bonnicastle 

"  So  could  I,"  added  Claire. 

I  could  not  say  a  word.  The  eyes  of  the  minister  still 
haunted  me  :  the  spell  of  a  new  influence  was  upon  me. 
vVhat  Mr.  Bradford  had  said  about  Mr.  Bedlow  only  in 
creased  my  desire  to  hear  him,  and  to  come  within  the 
reach  of  his  power. 

"Well,  children,"  said  Mr.  Bradford,  "  for  you  will 
let  me  call  you  such,  I  know,  I  have  only  one  thing  more 
to  say  to  you,  and  that  is  to  stand  by  your  Christian  fa 
thers  and  mothers,  and  take  their  faith  just  as  it  is.  Not 
one  of  you  is  old  enough  to  decide  upon  the  articles  of  a 
creed,  but  almost  any  faith  is  good  enough  to  hold  up  a 
Christian  character.  Don't  bother  yourselves  volun 
tarily  with  questions.  A  living  vine  grows  just  as  well 
on  a  rough  trellis  of  simple  branches  as  on  the  smoothest 
piece  of  ornamental  work  that  can  be  made.  If  you 
ever  wish  to  change  the  trellis  when  you  get  old  enough 
to  do  it,  be  careful  not  to  ruin  the  vine,  that  is  all.  I  am 
trying  to  keep  my  vine  alive  around  a  trellis  that  is  gone 
to  wreck.  I  believe  in  God  and  his  Son,  and  I  believe 
lhat  there  is  one  thing  which  God  delights  in  more  than 
in  all  else,  and  that  is  Christian  character.  I  hold  to 
the  first  and  strive  for  the  last,  though  I  am  looked  upon 
as  little  better  than  an  infidel  by  all  but  one." 

A  thrill,  sympathetically  felt  by  us  all,  and  visible  in 
a  blush  and  eyes  suffused,  ran  through  the  dear  little 
woman  seated  at  his  side,  and  she  looked  up  into  his 
'  face  with  a  trustful  smile  of  response. 

After  this  it  was  difficult  to  engage  in  light  conversa 
tion.  We  were  questioned  in  regard  to  our  past  experi 
ences  and  future  plans.  We  looked  over  volumes  of 
pictures  and  a  cabinet  of  curiosities,  and  Millie  amused 
us  by  reading,  and  at  an  early  hour  we  rose  to  go  home. 
Millie  went  to  her  corner  as  soon  as  we  broke  up,  giving 
me  a  look  as  she  passed  me.  I  took  the  hilit  and  fol 
lowed  her. 


Arthur  Bonnicastle.  153 

"  Shall  you  go  to  hear  Mr.  Bedlow  ?  "  she  inquired. 

"  I  think  I  shall,"  I  answered. 

"  I  knew  you  would.  I  should  like  to  go  with  you., 
but  you  know  I  can't.  Will  you  tell  me  what  he  is  like( 
and  all  about  it?  " 

"  Yes." 

I  pressed  her  hand  and  bade  her  "  Good-night." 

Mr.  Bradford  parted  with  us  at  the  door  with  pleasant 
and  courteous  words,  and  told  Henry  that  he  must  re 
gard  the  house  as  his  home,  and  assured  him  that  he 
would  always  find  a  welcome  there.  I  had  noticed  dur 
ing  the  evening  a  peculiarly  affectionate  familiarity  in 
his  tone  and  bearing  toward  the  young  man.  I  could 
not  but  notice  that  he  treated  him  with  more  considera 
tion  than  he  treated  me.  I  went  away  feeling  that  there 
were  confidences  between  them,  and  suffered  the  suspi 
cion  to  make  me  uneasy. 

I  walked  home  with  Henry  and  Claire,  and  we  talked 
over  the  affairs  of  the  evening  together.  Both  declared 
their  adhesion  to  Mr.  Bradford's  views,  and  I,  in  my  as 
sumed  pride  of  independent  opinion,  dissented.  I  pro 
posed  to  see  for  myself.  I  would  listen  to  Mr.  Bedlow's 
preaching.  I  was  not  afraid  of  being  harmed,  and,  in 
deed,  I  should  not  dare  to  stay  away  from  him. 

As  I  walked  to  The  Mansion,  I  found  my  nerves  ex 
cited  in  a  strange  degree.  The  way  was  full  of  shadows. 
I  started  at  every  noise.  It  was  as  if  the  spiritual  world 
were  dropped  down  around  me,  and  I  were  touched  by 
invisible  wings,  and  moved  by  mysterious  influences. 
The  stars  shivered  in  their  high  places,  the  night-wind 
swept  by  me  as  if  it  were  a  weird  power  of  evil,  and  I 
seemed  to  be  smitten  through  heart  and  brain  by  a 
nameless  fear.  As  1  kneeled  in  my  accustomed  way  at 
my  bed  I  lost  my  confidence.  I  could  not  recall  my 
usual  words  or"  frame  new  ones.  I  lingered  on  my  knees 
like  one  crushed  and  benumbed.  What  it  all  meant  I 


154  Arthur  Bonnicastle. 

could  not  tell.  I  only  knew  that  feelings  and  influences 
which  long  had  been  gathering  in  me  were  assuming  the 
predominance,  and  that  I  was  entering  upon  a  new 
phase  of  experience.  At  last  I  went  to  bed,  and  passed 
a  night  crowded  with  strange  dreams  and  dreary  pas 
sages  of  unrefreshing  slumber. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

I    PASS    THROUGH    A    TERRIBLE     TEMPEST     INTO     THE 
SUNLIGHT. 

I  HAD  never  arrived  at  any  definite  comprehension  of 
Mrs.  Sanderson's  ideas  of  religion.  Whether  she  was 
religious  in  any  worthy  sense  I  do  not  know,  even  to 
day.  The  respect  which  she  entertained  for  the  clergy 
was  a  sentiment  which  she  shared  with  New  Englanders 
generally.  She  was  rather  generous  than  otherwise  in 
her  contributions  to  their  support,  yet  the  most  I  could 
make  of  her  views  and  opinions  was  that  religion  and  its 
institutions  were  favorable  to  the  public  order  and  se 
curity,  and  were,  therefore,  to  be  patronized  and  perma 
nently  sustained.  I  never  should  have  thought  of  going 
to  her  for  spiritual  counsel,  yet  I  had  learned  in  some 
way  that  she  thought  religion  was  a  good  thing  for  a 
young  man,  because  it  would  save  him  from  dissipation 
and  from  a  great  many  dangers  to  which  young  men  are 
exposed.  The  whole  subject  seemed  to  be  regarded  by 
her  in  an  economical  or  prudential  aspect. 

I  met  her  on  the  morning  following  my  visit  at  the 
Bradfords,  in  the  breakfast-room.  She  was  cheery  and 
expectant,  for  she  always  found  me  talkative,  and  was 
prepared  to  hear  the  full  story  of  the  previous  evening. 
That  I  was  obliged  to  tell  her  that  Henry  was  there  with 


Arthur  Bonnicastle.  155 

my  sister,  embarrassed  me  much,  for,  beyond  the  fact 
that  she  disliked  Henry  intensely,  there  was  the  further 
fact — most  offensive  to  her — that  Mr.  Bradford  was  so 
cially  patronizing  the  poor,  and  bringing  me,  her  protege, 
into  association  with  them.  Here  was  where  my  chain 
galled  me,  and  made  me  realize  my  slavery.  I  saw  the 
thrill  of  anger  that  shot  through  her  face,  and  recognized 
the  effort  she  made  to  control  her  words.  She  did  not 
speak  at  first,  and  not  until  she  felt  perfectly  sure  of 
self-control  did  she  say  :  • 

"  Mr.  Bradford  is  very  unwise.  He  inflicts  a  great 
wrong  upon  young  people  without  position  or  expecta 
tions,  when  he  undertakes  to  raise  them  to  his  own  so 
cial  level.  How  he  could  do  such  a  thing  as  he  did  last 
night  is  more  than  I  can  imagine,  unless  he  wishes  either 
to  humiliate  you  or  offend  me." 

For  that  one  moment  how  I  longed  to  pour  out  my 
love  for  Henry  and  Claire,  and  to  speak  my  sense  of  jus 
tice  in  the  vindication  of  Mr.  Bradford  !  It  was  terrible 
to  sit  still  and  hold  my  tongue  while  the  ties  of  blood 
and  friendship  were  contemned,  and  the  motives  of  my 
hospitable  host  were  misconstrued  so  cruelly.  Yet  I 
could  not  open  my  lips.  I  dreaded  a  collision  with  her 
as  if  she  had  been  a  serpent,  or  a  furnace  of  fire,  or  a 
hedge  of  thorns.  Ay,  I  was  mean  enough  to  explain 
that  I  had  no  expectation  of  meeting  either  Henry  or 
my  sister  there  ;  and  she  was  adroit  enough  to  reply 
that  she  was  at  least  sure  of  that  without  my  saying  so. 

Then  I  talked  fully  of  Mr.  Grimshaw's  call,  and  gave 
such  details  of  the  conversation  that  occurred  as  I  could 
without  making  Mr.  Bradford  too  prominent. 

"  So  Mr.  Bradford  doesn't  like  Mr.  Bedlow,"  she  re 
marked  ;  "  but  Mr.  Bradford  is  a  trifle  whimsical  in  his 
likes  and  dislikes.  I'm  sure  I've  always  heard  Mr.  Bed- 
low  well  spoken  of.  He  has  the  credit  of  having  done  a 
great  deal  of  good,  and  if  he  is  coming  here,  Arthur,  I 


156  Arthur  Bonnicastlc. 

think  you  cannot  do  better  than  to  go  and  hear  him  fol 
yourself." 

Like  a  flash  of  light  there  passed  through  my  mind 
the  thought  that  Providence  had  not  only  thus  opened 
the  way  for  me,  but  with  an  imperative  finger  had  di 
rected  me  to  walk  in  it.  God  had  made  the  wrath  of 
woir.un  to  praise  him,  and  the  remainder  he  had  re 
strained.  Imagining  myself  to  be  thus  directed,  I  should 
not  have  darei  to  avoid  Mr.  Bedlow's  preaching.  The 
whole  interview  with  Mr.  Grimshaw,  the  fact  that,  con 
trary  to  my  wont,  I  had  not  found  myself  in  sympathy 
with  my  old  friend,  Mr.  Bradford,  and  the  strange  and 
unlooked-for  result  of  my  conversation  with  Mrs.  San 
derson,  shaped  themselves  into  a  divine  mandate  to 
whose  authority  my  spirit  bowed  in  ready  obedience. 

Mr.  Bedlow  made  his  appearance  in  Mr.  Grimshaw's 
pulpit  on  the  following  Sunday  ;  and  a  great  throng  of 
excited  and  expectant  people,  attracted  by  the  notoriety 
of  the  preacher,  and  moved  by  the  influences  of  the 
time,  were  in  attendance.  The  hush  of  solemnity  that 
pervaded  the  assembly  when  these  two  men  entered  the 
desk  impressed  me  deeply.  My  spirit  was  thrilled  with 
strange  apprehension.  My  emotional  nature  was  in 
chaos  ;  and  such  crystallizations  of  opinion,  thought,  and 
feeling  as  had  taken  place  in  me  during  a  life-long  course 
of  religious  nurture  and  education  were  broken  up. 
Outside  of  the  church,  and  entirely  lacking  that  dra 
matic  experience  of  conversion  and  regeneration  which 
all  around  me  regarded  as  the  only  true  beginning  of  a 
religious  life,  my  whole  soul  lay  open,  quick  and  quiver 
ing,  to  the  influences  of  the  hour,  and  the  words  which 
soon  fell  upon  it. 

The  pastor  conducted  the  opening  services,  and  I  had 
never  seen  him  in  such  a  mood.  Inspired  by  the  pres 
ence  of  an  immense  congregation  and  by  the  spirit  of 
the  time,  he  rose  entirely  out  of  the  mechanisms  of  his 


Arthur  Bonnicastle.  157 

theology  and  his  stereotyped  forms  of  expression,  and 
poured  out  the  burden  of  his  soul  in  a  prayer  that  melted 
every  heart  before  him.  Deprecating  the  judgments  of 
the  Most  High  on  the  coldness  and  worldliness  of  the 
church  ;  beseeching  the  Spirit  of  all  Grace  to  come  and 
work  its  own  great  miracles  upon  those  who  loved  the 
Master,  moving  them  to  penitence,  self-sacrifice,  humil 
ity  and  prayer,  entreating  that  Spirit  to  plant  the  arrows 
of  conviction  in  all  unconverted  souls,  and  to  bring  a 
great  multitude  of  these  into  the  Kingdom — a  multitude 
so  great  that  they  should  be  like  doves  flocking  to  their 
windows — he  prayed  like  a  man  inspired.  His  voice 
trembled  and  choked  with  emotion,  and  the  tears 
coursed  down  his  cheeks  unheeded.  It  seemed  as  if  he 
could  not  pause,  or  be  denied. 

Of  Mr.  Bedlow's  sermon  that  followed  I  can  give  no 
fitting  idea.  After  a  severe  denunciation  of  the  cold 
ness  of  the  church  that  grieved  and  repelled  the  Spirit 
of  God,  he  turned  to  those  without  the  fold — to  thfe  un 
converted  and  impenitent.  He  told  us  that  God  was 
angry  with  us  every  day,  that  every  imagination  of  the 
thoughts  of  our  hearts  was  only  evil  continually,  that  we 
were  exposed  every  moment  to  death  and  the  perdition 
of  ungodly  men,  and  that  it  was  our  duty  to  turn,  then 
and  there,  from  the  error  of  our  ways,  and  to  seek  and 
secure  the  pardon  which  a  pitying  Christ  extended  to  us 
— a  pardon  which  could  be  had  for  the  taking.  Then  he 
painted  with  wonderful  power  the  joy  and  peace  that 
follow  the  consciousness  of  sin  forgiven,  and  the  glories 
of  that  heaven  which  the  Saviour  had  gone  to  prepare  for 
those  who  love  him. 

I  went  home  blind,  staggering,  almost  benumbed — 
with  the  words  ringing  in  my  ears  that  it  had  been  my 
duty  before  rising  from  my  seat  to  give  myself  to  the 
Saviour,  and  to  go  out  of  the  door  rejoicing  in  the  pos 
session  of  a  hope  which  should  be  as  an  anchor  in  alj 


158  Arthur  Bonnicastle. 

the  storms  of  my  life  ;  yet  I  did  not  know  what  the  pro 
cess  was.  I  was  sure  I  did  not  know.  I  had  not  the 
slightest  comprehension  of  what  was  required  of  me,  yet 
the  fact  did  not  save  me  from  the  impression  that  I  had 
committed  a  great  sin.  I  went  to  my  room  and  tried  to 
pray,  and  spent  half  an  hour  of  such  helpless  and  piti 
ful  distress  as  I  cannot  describe.  Then  there  arose  in 
me  a  longing  for  companionship.  I  could  not  unbosom 
myself  to  Mrs.  Sanderson.  Henry's  calm  spirit  and 
sympathetic  counsels  were  beyond  my  reach.  Mr.  Brad 
ford  was  not  in  the  church,  and  I  could  only  think  of  my 
father,  and  determine  that  I  would  see  him.  I  ate  but 
little  dinner,  made  no  conversation  wifh  Mrs.  Sander 
son,  and,  toward  night,  left  the  house  and  sought  my 
father's  home. 

I  found  the  house  as  solemn  as  death.  All  the  family 
save  Claire  had  heard  Mr.  Bedlow,  and  my  mother  was 
profoundly  dejected.  A  cloud  rested  upon  my  brothers 
and  sisters.  My  father  apprehended  at  once  the  nature 
of  my  errand,  and,  by  what  seemed  to  be  a  mutual  im 
pulse  and  understanding,  we  passed  into  an  unoccupied 
room  and  closed  the  door.  The  moment  I  found  myself 
alone  with  him  I  threw  my  arms  around  his  neck,  and 
bursting  into  an  uncontrollable  fit  of  weeping  exclaimed  : 
"  Oh,  father  !  father !  what  shall  I  do  ?" 

For  years  I  had  not  come  to  him  with  a  trouble.  Foi 
years  I  had  not  reposed  in  him  a  single  heart-confidence, 
and  for  the  first  time  in  his  life  he  put  both  his  arms  affec^ 
tionately  around  me  and  embraced  me.  Minutes  passed 
while  we  stood  thus.  I  could  not  see  his  face,  for  my 
own  was  bowed  upon  his  shoulder,  but  I  could  feel  his 
heart-beats,  and  the  convulsions  of  emotion  which  shook 
him  in  every  fibre.  At  last  he  gently  put  me  off,  led  me. 
to  a  seat,  and  sat  down  beside  me.  He  took  my  hand, 
but  he  could  not  speak. 

"  Oh,  father  !  what  shall  I  do  ?  "  I  exclaimed  again. 


Arthur  Bonnicastlc.  159 

"  Go  to  God,  my  boy,  and  repeat  the  same  words  to 
him  with  the  same  earnestness." 

"  But  he  is  angry  with  me,"  I  said,  "  and  you  are  not. 
You  pity  me  and  love  me.  I  am  your  child.  You  can 
not  help  being  sorry  for  me." 

"  You  are  his  child  too,  my  boy,  by  relations  a  thou 
sand  times  tenderer  and  more  significant  than  those 
which  make  you  mine.  He  loves  you  and  pities  you 
more  than  I  can." 

"  But  I  don't  know  how  to  give  myself  to  him,"  I  said. 

"  I  have  had  the  impression  and  the  hope,"  my  fa 
ther  responded,  "  that  you  had  already  given  yourself  to 
him." 

"  Oh,  not  in  this  way  at  all,"  I  said. 

My  father  had  his  own  convictions,  but  he  was  almost 
morbidly  conscientious  in  all  his  dealings  with  the  souls 
around  him.  Fearful  of  meddling  with  that  which  the 
Gracious  Spirit  had  in  charge  and  under  influence,  and 
modest  in  the  assertion  of  views  which  might  possibly 
weaken  the  hold  of  conviction  upon  me  ;  feeling,  too, 
that  he  did  not  know  me  well  enough  to  direct  me,  and 
fearful  that  he  might  arrest  a  process  which,  perfected, 
might  redeem  me,  he  simply  said  :  "  I  am  not  wise  ;  let 
us  pray  together,  that  we  may  be  led  aright." 

Then  he  kneeled  and  prayed  for  me.  Ah  !  how  the 
blessed  words  of  that  prayer  have  lingered  in  my  mem 
ory  !  Though  not  immediately  fruitful  in  my  experience, 
they  came  to  me  long  years  after,  loaded  with  the  balm 
of  healing.  "  Oh,  Father  in  Heaven!"  he  said,  "this 
is  our  boy — thy  child  and  mine.  Thou  lovest  and  pit- 
iest  him  more  than  I  can.  Help  him  to  go  to  thee  as  he 
has  come  to  me,  and  to  say  in  perfect  submission,  '  Oh, 
Father,  what  shall  I  do  ! '  " 

I  went  home  at  last  somewhat  calmed,  because  I  had 
had  sympathy,  and,  for  a  few  moments,  had  leaned  upon 
another  nature  and  rested.  I  ate  little,  and,  as  soon 


I  Go  Artlnir  Bonnicastle. 

as  the  hour  arrived,  departed  to  attend  the  evening  ser 
vice,  previously  having  asked  old  Jenks  to  attend  the 
meeting  and  walk  home  with  me,  for  I  was  afraid  to  re 
turn  alone. 

A  strange  and  gloomy  change  had  come  over  the  sky  ; 
and  the  weather,  which  had  been  extremely  cold  for  a 
week,  had  grown  warm.  The  snow  under  my  feet  was 
soft  and  yielding,  and  already  little  rivulets  were  cours 
ing  along  the  ruts  worn  by  the  sleighs.  The  nerves 
which  had  been  braced  by  the  tonic  of  the  cold,  clear 
air  were  relaxed,  and  with  the  uncertain  footing  of  the 
streets  I  went  staggering  to  the  church. 

In  the  endeavor  now  to  analyze  my  feelings  I  find  it 
impossible  to  believe  that  I  was  convinced  that  my  life 
had  been  one  of  bold  and  intentional  sin.  A  consider 
able  part  of  my  pain,  I  know,  arose  from  the  fact  that 
I  could  not  realize  my  own  sinfulness  as  it  had  been 
represented  to  me.  I  despaired  because  I  could  not 
despair.  I  was  distressed  because  I  could  not  be  suf 
ficiently  distressed.  There  was  one  sin,  however,  of 
which  I  had  a  terrified  consciousness,  viz.,  that  of  reject 
ing  the  offer  of  mercy  which  had  been  made  to  me  in  the 
morning,  and  of  so  rejecting  it  as  to  be  in  danger  of  for 
ever  grieving  away  the  Spirit  of  God  which  I  believed 
was  at  work  upon  my  heart.  This  was  something  defi 
nite  and  dreadful,  though  I  felt  perfectly  ignorant  of  the 
exact  thing  required  of  me  and  impotent  to  perform  it. 
If  I  could  have  known  the  precise  nature  of  the  surren 
der  demanded  of  me,  and  could  have  comprehended 
the  effort  I  was  called  upon  to  make,  I  believe  I  should 
have  been  ready  for  both  ;  but  in  truth  I  had  been  sa 
mystified  by  the  preacher,  so  puzzled  by  his  representa 
tion  of  the  miracle  of  conversion,  which  he  made  to  ap 
pear  to  be  dependent  on  God's  sovereign  grace  entirely, 
and  yet  so  entirely  dependent  on  me  that  the  whole  guilt 
of  remaining  unconverted  would  rest  with  me  ;  I  was  so 


Arthur  Bonnicastle,  161 

expectant  of  some  mighty,  overwhelming  influence  that 
would  bear  me  to  a  point  where  I  could  see  through  the 
darkness  and  the  discord — an  influence  which  did  not 
;ome — that  I  was  paralyzed  and  helpless. 

I  was  early  in  the  church,  and  saw  the  solemn  groups 
as  they  entered  and  gradually  filled  the  pews.  The 
preachers,  too,  were  early  in  the  desk.  Mr.  Bedlow  sat 
where  he  could  see  me  and  read  my  face.  I  knew  that 
his  searching,  magnetic  eyes  were  upon  me,  and  in  the 
exalted  condition  of  my  sensibilities  I  felt  them.  In  the 
great  hush  that  followed  the  entrance  of  the  crowd  and 
preceded  the  beginning  of  the  exercises  I  saw  him  slowly 
rise  and  walk  down  the  pulpit  stairs.  I  had  never  known 
anything  of  his  methods,  and  was  entirely  unprepared 
for  what  followed.  Reaching  the  aisle,  he  walked  di 
rectly  to  where  I  sat,  and  raising  his  finger,  pointed  it  at 
me  and  said  :  "  Young  man,  are  you  a  Christian  ?  " 

"  I  suppose  not,"  I  answered. 

"  Do  you  ever  expect  to  become  one  ?  " 

"  I  do,"  I  replied. 

At  this  he  left  me,  and  went  to  one  and  another  in  the 
congregation,  putting  his  question  and  making  some  re 
mark.  Sensitive  men  and  women  hung  their  heads,  and 
tried  to  evade  his  inquiries  by  refusing  to  look  at  him. 

At  length  he  went  back  to  his  desk,  and  said  that  the 
church  could  do  no  better  than  to  hold  for  a  few  minutes 
a  season  of  prayer,  preparatory  to  the  services  of  the 
evening  ;  and  then  he  added  :  "  Will  some  brother  pray 
for  a  young  man  who  expects  to  become  a  Christian,  and 
pray  that  that  expectation  may  be  taken  away  from  him." 

Thereupon  a  young  man,  full  of  zeal,  kneeled  before 
the  congregation  and  poured  out  his  heart  for  me,  and 
prayed  as  he  had  been  asked  to  pray — that  my  expecta 
tion  to  become  a  Christian  might  be  taken  away  from 
me.  He  was,  however,  considerate  and  kind  enough  so 
far  to  modify  the  petition  as  to  beg  that  I  might  lose  my 


162  Arthur  Bonnicastle. 

expectation  in  the  immediate  realization  of  a  Christian 
experience — that  my  hope  to  become  a  Christian  might 
be  swallowed  up  in  my  hope  of  a  Christian's  reward. 

This  kindness  of  the  young  man,  however,  to  whose 
zeal  and  good-will  I  give  hearty  honor,  could  not  efface 
the  sore  sense  of  wrong  I  had  suffered  at  the  hand  of 
Mr.  Bedlow.  Why  he  should  have  singled  me  out  in  the 
throng  for  such  an  awful  infliction  I  did  not  know,  and 
why  he  should  have  asked  anybody  to  pray  that  all  ex 
pectation  of  becoming  a  Christian  should  be  taken  away 
from  me  I  could  not  imagine.  I  felt  that  I  was  misun 
derstood  and  outraged,  at  first,  and  as  my  anger  died 
away,  or  was  quenched  by  other  emotions,  I  found  that 
I  was  still  more  deeply  puzzled  than  before.  Was  I  not 
carefully  and  prayerfully  seeking  ?  And  was  not  this 
expectation  the  one  thing  which  made  my  life  endurable  ? 
Would  I  not  give  all  the  world  to  find  my  feet  upon  the 
sure  foundation  ?  Had  I  not  in  my  heart  of  hearts  de 
termined  to  find  what  there  was  to  be  found  if  I  could, 
or  die  ? 

No  :  Mr.  Bedlow,  meaning  well  no  doubt,  and  desir 
ing  to  lead  me  nearer  to  spiritual  rest,  had  thrust  me 
into  deeper  and  wilder  darkness  ;  and  in  that  darkness, 
haunted  by  forms  of  torment  and  terror,  I  sat  through 
one  of  the  most  impressive  sermons  and  exhortations  I 
had  ever  heard.  I  went  out  of  the  church  at  last  as  ut 
terly  hopeless  and  wretched  as  I  could  be.  There  was  a 
God  of  wrath  above  me,  because  there  was  the  guilt  of 
unfulfilled  duty  gnawing  at  my  conscience.  It  seemed 
as  if  the  great  tragedy  of  the  universe  were  being  per 
formed  in  my  soul.  Sun,  moon,  stars,  the  kingdoms  and 
glory  of  the  world — what  were  all  these,  either  in  them 
selves  or  to  me,  compared  with  the  interests  of  a  soul 
on  which  rested  the  burden  of  a  decision  for  its  own 
heaven  or  hell  ? 

As  I  emerged  into  the  open  air,  I  met  Jenks  at  the 


Arthur  Bonnicastle.  163 

door,  waiting  for  me,  and  as  t  lifted  my  hot  face  I  felt 
the  cold  rain  falling  upon  it.  Pitchy  darkness,  unre 
lieved  save  by  the  dim  lights  around  the  town  and  the 
blotched  and  rapidly  melting  snow,  had  settled  upon  the 
world.  I  clutched  the  old  servant's  arm,  and  struck  off 
in  silence  toward  home.  We  had  hardly  walked  the 
distance  of  a  block  before  there  came  a  flash  of  blinding 
lightning,  and  we  were  in  the  midst  of  that  impressive 
anomaly,  a  January  thunder-storm.  It  was  strange  how 
harmoniously  this  storm  supplemented  the  influences  of 
the  services  at  the  church,  from  which  I  had  just  retired. 
To  me  it  was  the  crowning  terror  of  the  night.  I  had  no 
question  that  it  was  directed  by  the  same  unseen  power 
which  had  been  struggling  with  me  all  day,  and  that  it 
was  expressive  of  His  infinite  anger.  As  we  hurried 
along,  unprotected  in  the  pouring  rain,  flash  after  flash 
illuminated  the  darkness,  and  peal  after  peal  of  thun 
der  hurtled  over  the  city,  rolled  along  the  heavens,  and 
echoed  among  the  distant  hills.  I  walked  in  constant 
fear  of  being  struck  dead,  and  of  passing  to  the  judgment 
unreconciled  and  unredeemed.  I  felt  that  my  soul  was 
dealing  directly  with  the  great  God,  and  tinder  the  play 
of  his  awful  enginery  of  destruction  I  realized  my  help 
lessness.  I  could  only  pray  to  him,  with  gasps  of  agony, 
and  in  whispers  :  "  Oh,  do  not  crush  me  !  Spare  me, 
and  I  will  do  anything  !  Save  my  life,  and  it  shall  be 
thine  !  " 

When  I  arrived  at  .the  house  I  did  not  dare  to  go  in, 
for  then  I  should  be  left  alone.  Without  a  word  I  led 
Jenks  to  the  stable,  and,  dripping  with  the  rain,  we 
passed  in. 

"  Oh,  Jenks,"  I  said,  "  I  must  pray,  and  you  must 
stay  with  me.  I  cannot  be  left  alone." 

I  knelt  upon  the  stable-floor,  and  the  old  man,  touched 
with  sympathy,  and  awed  by  the  passion  which  possessed 
me,  knelt  at  my  side.  Oh,  what  pledges  and  promises  I 


164  Arthur  Bonnicastle. 

gave  in  that  prayer,  if  God  would  spare  my  life  !  Hov» 
wildly  I  asked  for  pardon,  and  how  earnestly  did  I  be 
seech  the  Spirit  of  all  Grace  to  stay  with  me,  and  never 
to  be  grieved  away,  until  his  work  was  perfected  in  me! 

The  poor  old  man,  with  his  childish  mind,  could  not 
understand  my  abandonment  to  grief  and  terror ;  but 
while  I  knelt  I  felt  his  trembling  arm  steal  around  me, 
and  knew  that  he  was  sobbing.  His  heart  was  deeply 
moved  by  pity,  but  the  case  was  beyond  his  comprehen 
sion.  He  could  say  nothing,  but  the  sympathy  was  very 
grateful  to  me. 

And  all  this  time  there  was  another  arm  around  me, 
whose  touch  I  was  too  benumbed  to  feel ;  there  was  an 
other  heart  beside  me,  tender  with  sympathy,  whose 
beatings  I  was  too  much  agitated  to  apprehend  ;  there 
was  a  voice  calling  to  the  tempest  within  me,  "  Peace  ! 
be  still !  "  but  I  could  not  hear  it.  Oh,  infinite  Father ! 
Oh,  loving  and  pitying  Christ !  Why  could  I  not  have 
seen  thee,  as  them  didst  look  down  upon  and  pity  thy 
terror-stricken  child  ?  Why  could  I  not  have  seen  thy 
arms  extended  toward  me,  and  thy  eyes  beaming  with 
ineffable  love,  calling  me  to  thy  forgiving  embrace  ? 
How  could  I  have  done  thee  the  dishonor  to  suppose 
that  the  simple  old  servant  kneeling  at  my  side  was  ten 
derer  and  more  pitiful  than  thou  ? 

We  both  grew  chilly  at  last,  and  passed  quietly  into 
the  house.  Mrs.  Sanderson  had  retired,  but  had  left  a 
bright  fire  upon  the  hearth,  at  which  both  of  us  warmed 
and  dried  ourselves.  The  storm,  meantime,  had  died 
away,  though  the  lightning  still  flapped  its  red  wings 
against  the  windows,  and  the  dull  reverberations  of  the 
thunder  came  to  me  from  the  distance.  With  the  relief 
from  what  seemed  to  be  the  danger  of  imminent  death, 
1  had  the  strength  to  mount  to  my  room  alone,  and, 
after  another  prayer  which  failed  to  lift  my  burden,  I 
consigned  myself  to  my  bed.  The  one  thought  that 


Arthur  Bonnicastle.  165 

possessed  me  as  I  lay  down  was  that  I  might  never 
wake  if  I  should  go  to  sleep.  My  nervous  exhaustion 
was  such  that  when  sinking  into  sleep  I  started  many 
times  from  my  pillow,  tossing  the  clothes  from  me,  and 
gasping  as  if  I  had  been  sinking  into  an  abyss.  Sleep 
came  at  last,  however,  and  I  awoke  on  the  morrow,  con 
scious  that  I  had  rested,  and  rejoicing  at  least  in  the 
fact  that  my  day  of  probation  was  not  yet  past.  My 
heart  kindled  for  a  moment  as  I  looked  from  my  win 
dow  into  the  face  of  the  glorious  sun,  and  the  deep  blue 
heaven,  but  sank  within  me  when  I  remembered  my 
promises,  and  felt  that  the  struggle  of  the  previous  day 
was  to  be  renewed. 

This  struggle  I  do  not  propose  to  dwell  upon  further 
in  extended  detail.  If  the  record  of  it  thus  far  is  as  pain 
ful  to  read  as  it  is  to  write,  the  reader  will  have  tired  of 
it  already.  It  lasted  for  weeks,  and  I  never  rationally  saw 
my  way  out  of  that  blindness.  There  were  literally  hun 
dreds  in  the  city  who  professed  to  have  found  a  great 
and  superlatively  joyous  peace,  but  I  did  not  find  it,  nor 
did  it  come  to  me  in  any  way  by  which  I  dreamed  it 
might  come. 

The  vital  point  with  me  was  to  find  some  influence 
so  powerful  that  I  could  not  resist  it.  I  felt  myself  toss 
ing  upon  a  dangerous  sea,  just  outside  the  harbor,  be 
tween  which  and  me  there  stretched  an  impassable  bar. 
So,  wretched  and  worn  with  anxious  waiting,  I  looked 
for  the  coming  in  of  some  mighty  wave  which  would  lift 
my  sinking  bark  over  the  forbidding  obstacle,  into  the 
calm  waters  that  mirrored  upon  their  banks  the  domes 
and  dwellings  of  the  city  of  the  Great  King. 

Sometimes  I  tired  of  Mr.  Bedlow,  and  went  to  other 
churches,  longing  always  to  hear  some  sermon  or  find 
some  influence  that  would  do  for  me  that  which  I  could 
not  do  for  myself.  I  visited  my  father  many  times,  bul 
he  could  not  help  me,  beyond  what  he  had  already  done. 


1 66  Arthur  Bonnicastle. 

One  of  the  causes  of  my  perplexity  was  the  fact  that 
Henry  attended  the  prayer-meetings,  and  publicly  par 
ticipated  in  the  exercises.  I  heard,  too,  that,  in  a  quiet 
way,  he  was  very  influential  in  his  school,  and  that  many 
of  his  pupils  had  begun  a  religious  life.  Why  was  he 
different  from  myself  ?  Why  was  it  necessary  that  I 
should  go  through  this  experience  of  fear  and  torment, 
while  he  escaped  it  altogether  ?  All  our  previous  expe 
rience  had  been  nearly  identical.  For  years  we  had 
been  subjected  to  the  same  influences,  had  struggled  for 
the  same  self-mastery,  had  kneeled  at  the  same  bed  in 
daily  devotion  ;  yet  here  he  was,  busy  in  Christian  service, 
steadily  rejoicing  in  Christian  hope,  into  which  he  had 
grown  through  processes  as  natural  as  those  by  which 
the  rose-tree  rises  to  the  grace-of  inflorescence.  I  see  it 
iill  now,  but  then  it  not  only  perplexed  me,  but  filled  me 
with  weak  complaining  at  my  harder  lot. 

During  these  eventful  weeks  I  often  met  Millie  Brad 
ford  on  her  way  to  and  from  school.  I  have  no  doubt 
that,  from  her  window,  she  had  made  herself  familiar 
with  my  habits  of  going  and  coming,  and  had  timed  her 
own  so  as  to  fall  in  with  me. 

In  communities  not  familiar  with  the  character  and 
history  of  a  New  England  revival,  it  would  be  impossi 
ble  to  conceive  of  the  universality  of  the  influence  which 
they  exert  during  the  time  of  their  highest  activity. 
Multitudes  of  men  neglect  their  business.  Meetings  are 
held  during  every  evening  of  the  week,  and  sometimes 
during  all  the  days  of  the  week.  Children,  gathered  in 
their  own  little  chambers,  hold  prayer-meetings.  Re 
ligion  is  the  all-absorbing  topic,  with  old  and  young. 

Millie  was  like  the  rest  of  us  ;  and,  forbidden  to  hear 
Mr.  Bedlow  preach,  she  had  determined  to  win  her  ex 
perience  at  home.  It  touches  me  now  even  to  tears  to 
remember  how  she  used  to  meet  me  in  the  street,  and 
ask  me  how  I  was  getting  along,  how  I  liked  Mr,  Bed- 


Arthur  Bonnicastle.  16? 

low,  and  whether  he  had  helped  me.  She  told  me  that 
she  and  her  mother  were  holding  little  prayer-meetings 
together,  but  that  Aunt  Flick  was  away  pretty  much  all 
the  time.  She  was  seeking  to  become  a  Christian,  and 
at  last  she  told  me  that  she  thought  she  had  become  one. 
I  was  rational  enough  to  see  that  it  was  not  necessary 
for  an  innocent  child  like  her  to  share  my  graver  experi 
ences.  Indeed,  I  listened  eagerly  to  her  expressions  of 
simple  faith  and  trust,  and  to  her  recital  of  the  pur 
poses  of  life  to  which  she  had  committed  herself.  One 
revelation  which  she  made  in  confidence,  but  which  I 
am  sure  was  uttered  because  she  wanted  me  to  think 
well  of  her  father,  interested  me  much.  She  said  her 
father  prayed  very  much  alone,  though  he  did  not  at 
tend  the  meetings.  The  thought  of  my  old  friend  toil 
ing  in  secret  over  the  problem  which  absorbed  us  all 
was  very  impressive. 

Thus  weeks  passed  away,  and  the  tide  which  rose  to 
its  flood  began  to  ebb.  I  could  see  that  the  meetings 
grew  less  frequent,  and  that  the  old  habits  of  business 
and  pleasure  were  reasserting  themselves.  Conversions 
were  rarer,  and  the  blazing  fervor  of  action  and  devotion 
cooled.  As  I  realized  this,  and,  in  realizing  it,  found 
that  I  was  just  as  far  from  the  point  at  which  I  had  aimed 
as  I  was  at  the  beginning,  a  strange,  desperate  despair 
seized  me.  I  could  hope  for  no  influences  in  the  future 
more  powerful  than  those  to  which  I  had  been  subjected. 
The  stimulus  to  resolution  and  endeavor  was  nearly 
expended.  Yet  I  had  many  times  vowed  to  the  Most 
High  that  before  that  season  had  passed  away  I  would 
find  Him,  and,  with  him,  peace,  if  He  and  it  were  to  be 
found.  What  was  1  to  do  ? 

At  last  there  came  a  day  of  in-gathering.  The  harvest 
was  to  be  garnered.  A  great  number  of  men,  women, 
and  youth  were  to  be  received  into  the  church.  I  went 
early,  and  took  a  seat  in  the  gallery,  where  I  could  see 


1 68  Arthur  Bonnicastle. 

the  throng  as  they  presented  themselves  in  the  aisles 
to  make  their  profession  of  faith  and  unite  in  their  cove 
nant.  When  called  upon  they  took  their  places,  coming 
forward  from  all  parts  of  the  audience  in  front  of  the 
Communion  table.  Among  them  were  both  Henry  and 
Claire.  At  sight  of  them  I  grew  sick.  Passage  after  pas 
sage  of  Scripture  that  seemed  applicable  to  my  condition, 
crowded  into  my  mind.  They  came  from  the  North  and 
the  South  and  the  East  and  the  West,  and  sat  down  in 
the  Kingdom  of  God,  and  I,  a  child  of  the  Kingdom, 
baptized  into  the  name  of  the  Ineffable,  was  cast  out.  The 
harvest  was  past,  the  summer  was  ended,  and  my  soul 
was  not  saved  !  I  witnessed  the  ceremonies  with  feelings 
mingled  of  despair,  bitterness,  and  desperation.  On 
the  faces  of  these  converts,  thus  coming  into  the  fold, 
there  was  impressed  the  seal  of  a  great  and  solemn  joy. 
Within  my  bosom  there  burned  the  feeling  that  I  had 
honestly  tried  to  do  my  duty,  and  that  my  endeavors 
had  been  spurned.  In  a  moment,  to  which  I  had  been 
led  by  processes  whose  end  I  could  not  see,  my  will  gave 
way,  and  I  said,  "  I  will  try  no  longer.  This  is  the  end." 
Every  resolution  and  purpose  within  me  was  shivered  by 
the  fall. 

To  what  depth  of  perdition  I  might  be  hurled — under 
what  judgment  I  might  be  crushed — I  could  not  tell,  and 
hardly  cared  to  imagine.  Quite  to  my  amazement,  I 
found  myself  at  perfect  peace.  What  did  it  mean  ?  Not 
only  was  the  burden  gone,  but  there  thrilled  through  my 
soul  a  quick,  strong  joy.  My  spirit  was  like  a  broad  sea, 
alive  all  over  with  sunlit  ripples,  with  one  broad  track 
of  glory  that  stretched  across  into  the  unfathomable 
heaven  !  I  felt  the  smile  of  God  upon  me.  I  felt  the  love 
of  God  within  me.  Was  I  insane  ?  Had  Satan  appeared 
to  me  as  an  angel  of  light  and  deceived  me  ?  Was  this 
conversion  ?  I  was  so  much  in  doubt  in  regard  to  the 
real  nature  of  this  experience,  that  when  I  left  the  house 


Arthur  Bonnicastle.  169 

I  spoke  to  no  one  of  it.  Emerging  into  the  open  air,  I 
found  myself  in  a  new  world.  I  walked  the  streets  as 
iightly  as  if  wings  had  been  upon  my  shoulders,  lifting 
me  from  point  to  point  through  all  the  passage  home 
ward.  Ah,  how  blue  the  heavens  were,  and  how  broad 
and  beautiful  the  world  !  What  a  blessed  thing  it  was  to 
live  !  How  sweet  were  the  faces  not  only  of  friends,  but 
even  of  those  whom  I  did  not  know  !  How  gladly  would 
I  have  embraced  every  one  of  them  !  It  was  as  if  I  had 
been  unclothed  of  my  mortality,  and  clothed  upon  with 
the  immortal.  I  was  sure  that  heaven  could  hold  no  joy 
superior  to  that. 

When  passing  Mr.  Bradford's,  I  saw  Millie  at  the 
window.  She  beckoned  to  me,  and  I  went  to  her  door. 
"  How  is  it  now  ?  "  she  said. 

"  I  don't  know,  Millie,"  I  replied,  "  but  I  think  it  is 
all  right.  I  never  felt  before  as  I  do  now." 

"  Oh,  I  was  getting  so  tired  !  "  said  she.  "  I've  been 
praying  for  you  for  days,  and  days,  and  days  !  and  hop 
ing  and  hoping  you'd  get  through." 

I  could  only  thank  her,  and  press  her  little  hand  ;  and 
then  I  hurried  to  my  home,  mounted  to  my  room,  shut 
and  locked  the  door,  and  sat  down  to  think. 


CHAPTER   X. 

1  JOIN   A   CHURCH   THAT   LEAVES    OUT    MR.    BRADFORD 
AND    MILLIE. 

How  shall  I  write  the  history  of  the  few  weeks  that  fol 
lowed  my  new  experience  ?  I  had  risen,  as  on  wings, 
from  the  depths  of  despair  to  the  heights  of  hope.  I 
had  emerged  from  a  valley  of  shadows,  haunted  by  ten 
thousand  forms  of  terror  and  shapes  of  anguish,  and  sat 


170  Arthur  Bonnicastle. 

down  upon  the  sunny  hills  of  peace.  The  world,  which 
had  become  either  mocking  or  meaningless  to  me,  was 
illuminated  with  loving  expression  in  every  feature. 
Far  above  the  deep  blue  of  the  winter  skies  my  imagina 
tion  caught  the  sheen  of  winged  forms  and  the  far  echoes 
of  happy  angel-voices.  I  lifted  my  face  to  the  sun,  and, 
shutting  my  eyes,  felt  the  smile  of  God  upon  me. 
Every  wind  that  blew  brought  its  ministry  of  blessing. 
Every  cloud  that  swept  the  sky  bore  its  message  of 
good-will  from  heaven.  I  loved  life,  I  loved  the  world, 
I  loved  every  living  thing  I  saw,  and,  more  than  all, 
I  loved  the  Great  Father  who  had  bestowed  upon  me 
such  gracious  gifts  of  hope  and  healing. 

Mrs.  Sanderson,  though  she  had  said  little,  and  had 
received  no  confidence  from  me,  had  been  troubled  for 
many  weeks.  She  had  seen  in  my  haggard  eyes  and 
weary  look  the  evidences  of  a  great  trial  and  struggle  ; 
but  without  the  power  to  enter  into  it,  or  to  help  me  out 
of  it,  she  had  never  done  more  than  to  ask  me  if,  for 
my  health's  sake,  it  would  not  be  better  for  me  to  at 
tend  fewer  meetings  and  take  more  sleep.  The  weeks 
that  followed  were  only  more  satisfactory  to  her  from 
the  conviction  that  I  was  happier,  for  I  gave  myself  with 
hearty  zeal  to  the  work  which  I  felt  had  been  imposed 
upon  me. 

My  father  was  happy  in  my  new  happiness,  never 
doubting  that  it  had  come  to  me  through  the  Grace  of 
Heaven.  I  was  assured  on  every  hand  that  I  had  passed 
through  that  change  of  regeneration  which  was  the  true 
basis  in  me,  and  in  many  at  least,  of  the  new  life. 
Meeting  Mr.  Bradford,  I  spoke  freely  to  him  of  my 
change,  and  he  told  me  with  a  sigh  that  he  was  glad  I 
was  at  peace.  He  evidently  did  not  say  all  that  he  felt, 
but  he  said  nothing  to  discourage  me. 

It  soon  became  known  to  Mr.  Grimshaw  and  the 
members  of  his  church  that  I  had  become  a  convert, 


Arthur  Bonnicastie.  171 

and  I  found  abundant  opportunities  at  once  to  exercise 
such  gifts  as  I  possessed  to  induce  others  to  drink  at 
the  fountain  from  which  I  had  drawn  such  draughts  of 
peace  and  pleasure.  I  prayed  in  public  ;  I  exhorted  ;  I 
went  from  one  to  another  of  my  own  age  with  personal 
persuasions.  Nay,  I  was  alluded  to  and  held  up,  in 
public  and  private,  as  one  of  the  most  notable  of  the 
trophies  which  had  been  won  in  the  great  struggle  with 
the  powers  of  darkness  through  which  the  church  had 
passed. 

I  look  back  now  upon  the  public  life  that  I  lived  in 
those  youthful  days  with  wonder.  Audiences  that  I  then 
faced  and  addressed  without  embarrassment  would  now 
send  fever  into  my  lips  and  tongue,  or  strike  me  dumb. 
I  rejoiced  then  in  a  prominence  from  which  I  should 
now  shrink  with  a  sensitiveness  of  pain  quite  insupport 
able.  I  was  the  youthful  marvel  of  the  town  ;  and  peo 
ple  flocked  again  to  the  church  where  I  was  to  be  seen 
and  heard  as  if  a  new  Bedlow  had  come  down  to  them 
from  the  skies. 

This  publicity  did  not  please  Mrs.  Sanderson,  but  she 
saw  farther,  alas  !  than  I  did,  and  knew  that  such  exalta 
tion  could  not  be  perpetual.  Could  I  have  had  a  wise 
counsellor  then,  it  would  have  saved  me  years  of  wan 
dering  and  years  of  sorrow.  The  tendency  of  this  public 
work  was  to  make  me  vain,  and  induce  a  love  of  the 
sound  of  my  own  voice.  Without  experience,  flattered 
by  attention,  stimulated  by  the  assurance  that  I  was 
doing  a  great  deal  of  good,  and  urged  on  by  my  own 
delight  in  action,  I  fairly  took  the  bit  in  my  teeth,  and 
ran  such  a  race  as  left  me  at  last  utterly  exhausted.  I 
went  from  meeting  to  meeting  all  over  the  city.  There 
was  hardly  a  church  in  which  my  voice  was  not  heard. 
Everywhere  I  was  thanked  and  congratulated.  I  did 
not  realize  then  as  I  do  now  that  I  was  moved  by  a 
thirst  for  praise,  and  that  motives  most  human  mingled 


1/2  Arthur  Bonnicastle. 

strangely  and  strongly  with  the  divine  in  urging  me  for 
ward.  O  Heaven  !  to  think  that  I,  a  poor  child  in  life 
and  experience,  should  have  labored  in  Thy  name  to  win 
a  crown  to  my  personal  vanity  ! 

I  shudder  now  at  the  cruelty  practised  upon  the  young 
nearly  everywhere,  in  bringing  them  to  the  front,  and 
exposing  them  to  such  temptations  as  those  which  then 
had  the  power  to  poison  all  my  motives,  to  brush  away 
from  my  spirit  the  bloom  of  youthful  modesty,  and  to 
expose  me  to  a  process  which  was  certain  to  ultimate  in 
spiritual  torpor  and  doubt.  I  always  tremble  and  sicken 
when  I  behold  a  child  or  youth  delighting  in  the  exer 
cises  of  a  public  exhibition  ;  and  when  I  see,  inside  or 
outside  of  church  walls,  children  bred  to  boldness 
through  the  public  show  of  themselves  and  their  accom 
plishments,  and  realize  what  part  of  their  nature  is 
stimulated  to  predominance  by  the  process,  and  what 
graces  are  extinguished  by  it,  I  do  not  wonder  at  the 
lack  of  reverence  in  American  character,  and  that  ex 
haustion  of  sensibility  which  makes  our  churches  so  faint 
and  fitful  in  feeling. 

Having  given  up  all  my  earlier  ideas  of  religion,  and 
learned  to  regard  them  as  wholly  inadequate  and  un 
worthy,  I  could  be  in  my  new  work  little  more  than  a 
parrot.  I  had  passed  through  but  a  single  phase  of 
what  I  had  learned  to  regard  as  a  genuine  religious  ex 
perience,  and  my  counsels  were  but  the  repetitions  of 
what  I  had  heard.  If  some  wise  man  or  woman  could 
have  told  me  of  myself — of  the  proprieties  that  belong  to 
the  position  of  a  neophyte — of  the  dangers  of  public 
labor,  and  of  being  publicly  petted  and  exhibited,  how 
well  for  me  it  would  have  been  !  But  I  had  no  such 
counsellor.  On  the  contrary,  I  was  seized  upon  at  once 
as  a  fresh  instrumentality  for  carrying  on  a  work  already 
waning.  I  am  ashamed  to  think  of  the  immodesty  of 
some  of  my  nersonal  approaches  to  my  elders  whom  I 


Arthur  Bonnicastle.  173 

regarded  as  needing  my  ministry,  and  humiliated  by  the 
memory  of  the  considerate  forbearance  with  which  I  was 
treated  for  religion's  and  my  motive's  sake. 

It  was  in  labors  and  experiences  like  these  that  a  few 
weeks  passed  away.  Another  in-gathering  of  the  great 
spiritual  harvest  approached.  I,  among  others,  was  to 
make  a  public  profession  of  my  faith,  and  become  a 
member  of  the  church.  Mr.  Grimshaw  put  upon  me 
the  task  of  persuading  the  young  of  my  own  age  to  join 
me  in  this  solemn  self-dedication,  and  I  had  great  suc 
cess  in  my  mission. 

Among  the  considerable  number  whom  I  had  selected 
as  proper  subjects  of  my  counsels  and  persuasions,  was 
my  interesting  friend  Millie  Bradford  :  but  I  knew  she 
was  quite  too  young  to  decide  so  momentous  a  question, 
and  that  her  father  would  not  permit  her  to  decide  it  for 
herself.  To  tell  the  truth,  I  did  not  like  to  meet  Mr. 
Bradford  with  my  proposition,  for  I  anticipated  objec 
tions,  and  did  not  feel  qualified  to  argue  with  him.  I 
consulted  with  Mr.  Grimshaw  in  regard  to  the  case,  and 
it  was  finally  decided  that  we  should  visit  Mr.  Bradford 
together. 

Accordingly  we  called  upon  him,  and  spent  an  even 
ing  in  conversation,  which,  although  it  won  no  new 
members  to  my  group,  left  a  deep  impression  upon  my 
mind  and  memory. 

'  The  conversation  was  begun  by  Mr.  Grimshaw,  who 
said:  "We  have  called,  Mr.  Bradford,  with  the  pur 
pose  of  conferring  with  you  in  regard  to  your  daughter 
Millie.  I  know  but  little  of  her,  but  I  learn  through 
Arthur  that  she  is  a  sharer  in  the  blessings  of  our  great 
revival.  Have  you  any  objection  to  her  union  with  our 
church,  provided  she  shall  choose  to  become  a  mem 
ber?" 

"  Have  you  no  invitation  for  any  one  else  in  tha 
family?  "  inquired  Mr.  Bradford,  with  a  smile. 


1/4  Arthur  Bonnicastle. 

''  I  was  not  aware  that  there  were  other  converts  in 
th.e  family,"  responded  the  minister. 

"  I  speak  it  with  great  humility,  Mr.  Grimshaw,"  said 
Mr.  Bradford,  "  but  I  count  myself  a  disciple.  I  am  a 
learner  at  the  feet  of  your  Master  and  mine  ;  and  I  have 
been  a  learner  for  years.  I  do  not  regard  myself  as 
having  attained,  or  fully  apprehended,  but  I  follow  on, 
and  1  should  like  society  on  the  way,  as  well  as  any 
one." 

"  But  your  views  do  not  accord  with  those  professed 
by  our  church,"  said  Mr.  Grimshaw. 

"  I  do  not  know  what  business  the  church  may  legiti 
mately  have  with  my  private  opinions.  I  learn  from  the 
New  Testament  that  he  who  repents  and  believes  on  the 
Lord  Jesus  Christ  shall  be  saved.  A  man  who  does  this 
belongs  at  least  to  the  invisible  church,  and  I  do  not 
recognize  the  right  of  a  body  of  men  calling  themselves 
a  church  to  shut  out  from  their  communion  any  man  or 
woman  who  belongs  to  the  church  invisible,  or  any  one 
whom  the  Master  counts  among  his  disciples." 

"  But  we  must  have  some  standard  of  faith  and  be 
lief,"  said  Mr.  Grimshaw. 

"  I  suppose  you  must,"  responded  Mr.  Bradford, 
"but  why  should  you  construct  it  of  non-essential  ma 
terials  ?  Why  should  you  build  a  high  fence  around 
your  church,  and  insist  that  every  man  shall  climb 
every  rail,  when  the  first  is  all  that  the  Master  asks  him 
to  climb?  I  recognize  repentance  and  trust  as  the  basis 
of  a  Christian  character  and  life,  and  I  regard  character 
as  the  one  grand  result  at  which  the  Author  of  Chris 
tianity  aimed.  He  desired  to  make  good  men  out  of 
bad  men  ;  and  repentance  and  trust  form  the  basis  of 
the  process.  When  you  go  beyond  this,  with  your  dog 
mas  and  your  creeds,  you  infringe  upon  the  liberty  of 
those  whom  repentance  and  trust  have  made  free.  Per 
sonally,  I  feel  that  I  am  suffering  a  great  wrong,  inflictH 


Arthur  Bonnicastle.  175 

in  ignorance  and  with  good  motives  no  doubt;  but  still  a 
wrong,  in  that  I  am  shut  out  from  Christian  sympathy 
and  fellowship.  I  will  not  profess  to  believe  any  more 
than  I  ao  believe.  It  is  simply  impossible  for  me,  a 
rational,  honest,  mature  man,  to  accept  that  which  you 
prescribe  for  me.  I  am  perfectly  willing  that  you  should 
believe  what  seems  to  you  to  be  true,  touching  all  these 
points  of  doctrine.  I  only  insist  that  you  shall  be  a 
Christian  in  heart  and  life — an  honest  disciple.  If  you 
cannot  give  me  the  same  liberty,  under  the  same  condi 
tions,  we  can  never  get  any  nearer  together." 

"  You  seem  to  forget,"  responded  the  minister,  "  that 
our  creed  is  the  product  of  whole  ages  of  Christian  wis 
dom — that  it  has  been  framed  by  men  of  wide  and  pro 
found  experience,  who  have  learned  by  that  experience 
what  is  essential  to  the  stability  and  purity  of  the 
church." 

"  And  you  seem  to  forget,"  said  Mr.  Bradford,  "  that 
the  making  and  defence  of  creeds  have  rent  the  seamless 
garment  of  the  Lord  into  ten  thousand  fragments — that 
they  have  been  the  instruments  for  the  destruction  of 
the  unity  of  the  church  in  fact  and  feeling — that  they 
have  not  only  been  the  subjects  of  controversies  that 
have  disgraced  the  church  before  the  world,  and  embit 
tered  the  relations  of  large  bodies  of  Christians,  but 
have  instigated  the  crudest  persecutions  and  the  most 
outrageous  murders  and  martyrdoms.  You  are  not  so 
bigoted  as  to  deny  that  there  are  Christians  among  all 
the  sects  ;  and  you  are  liberal  enough  to  give  to  the  dif 
ferent  sects  the  liberty  of  faith  which  they  claim.  The 
world  is  growing  better  in  this  thing,  and  is  not  so  intol 
erant  as  it  was.  Now,  why  will  you  not  give  me  the 
same  liberty,  as  a  man,  that  you  give  to  churches 
founded  on  creeds  at  variance  with  yours  ?  You  invite 
the  teachers  of  other  sects  into  your  pulpit.  You  invite 
their  people  to  your  communion-table,  while  you  shuJ 


176  Arthur  Bonnie  a  stle, 

me  away  by  conditions  that  are  just  as  impossible  to  me 
as  they  would  be  to  them." 

I  could  see  that  Mr.  Grimshaw  was  not  only  over 
whelmed  in  argument  but  deeply  moved  in  feeling.  He 
grasped  Mr.  Bradford's  hand,  and  said  :  "My  dear  sir, 
it  would  give  me  one  of  the  greatest  pleasures  of  my  life 
to  receive  you  into  our  communion,  for  I  believe  in  your 
sincerity  and  in  your  character,  but  I  could  not  if  I 
would." 

"  I  know  it,"  responded  Mr.  Bradford  :  "  your  sym 
pathies  go  beyond  your  creed,  and  your  most  earnest 
convictions  stop  short  of  it.  Your  hands  are  tied,  and 
your  tongue  must  be  dumb.  You  and  your  church  will 
go  on  in  the  old  way.  The  young  who  do  not  think,  and 
the  mature  who  will  not  try  to  think,  or  do  not  dare  to 
try,  will  accept  what  you  prescribe  for  them.  Women, 
more  trustful  and  religious  than  men,  will  constitute 
the  majority  of  your  members.  In  the  meantime,  the 
thinking  men — the  strong,  influential,  practical  men  of 
society — the  men  of  culture,  enterprise,  and  executive 
power — will  remain  outside  of  the  church — shut  out  by  a 
creed  which  their  reason  refuses  to  accept." 

"  I  am  afraid  the  creed  is  not  altogether  to  blame  for 
their  exclusion,"  said  the  minister.  "  '  Not  many  wise* 
— you  remember  the  quotation." 

"When  Christianity  was  an  apostasy  from  a  church 
to  which  all  the  wise  and  mighty  were  attached,"  replied 
Mr.  Bradford,  "  your  quotation  was  doubtless  true  as  a 
statement  of  fact,  but  we  belong  to  another  nation  and 
age.  I  hold  myself  a  type  and  representative  of  a  large 
class,  who  cannot  enter  the  church  without  self-stultifi 
cation  and  a  sacrifice  of  that  liberty  of  thought  and  opin 
ion  which  is  their  birthright.  We  cannot  afford  to  do 
without  you,  and  you  cannot  afford  to  do  without  us.  It 
is  your  business  to  make  a  home  for  us,  for  we  are  alJ 
passing  on  to  that  stage  and  realm  of  being  where  opin- 


Arthur  Bonnicastlc.  177 

ions  will  be  of  small  account,  and  where  character  will 
decide  everything." 

"  We  have  wandered  very  far  from  your  daughter, 
Mi.  Bradford,  about  whom  we  came  to  talk,"  said  Mr. 
Grimshaw. 

An  expression  of  pain  passed  over  Mr.  Bradford's 
face.  Then  he  rose,  and  walking  to  a  door  which 
closed  another  room,  opened  it,  and  called  his  daughter. 
Millie  entered  the  room  with  a  question  in  her  eyes,  and 
shaking  hands  with  us,  went  to  her  father's  side,  where 
she  stood  with  his  arm  around  her  during  the  remainder 
of  the  interview. 

"  Millie,"  said  her  father,  "Mr.  Grimshaw  and  Ar 
thur  have  come  here  to  invite  you  to  join  the  church. 
Would  you  like  to  do  so  ?  " 

"  If  you  and  mamma  think  I  ought  to,"  she  replied. 

At  this  moment,  Mrs.  Bradford,  conjecturing,  I  sup 
pose,  the  object  of  our  visit,  entered  the  room,  and  giv 
ing  us  a  most  friendly  greeting,  took  a  seat  near  her 
daughter.  Mr.  Bradford  repeated  our  proposal  to  her, 
and  Millie's  reply  to  it. 

"  I  should  regard  it  as  one  of  the  sweetest  satisfac 
tions  of  my  life  to  have  my  child  with  me  in  church  com 
munion,"  she  said,  looking  down  to  hide  the  tears  that 
she  felt  filling  her  eyes. 

"  And  I  sympathize  with  you  entirely  in  your  feeling," 
added  Mr.  Bradford. 

"  Then,"  said  Mr.  Grimshaw,  nothing  will  stand  in 
the  way,  provided,  upon  examination,  your  daughter 
gives  evidence  of  an  intelligent  entrance  upon  a  Chris 
tian  experience." 

"  Which  means,  I  suppose,"  said  Mr.  Bradford,  "  that 
if  she  will  accept  your  whole  creed  and  scheme  on  trust, 
as  well  as  give  evidence  of  having  determined  upon  a 
Christian  life,  you  will  endow  her  with  the  privileges  of 
membership." 
8* 


178  Arthur  Boiinicastle. 

"  We  have  but  one  condition  for  all,  as  you  know," 
responded  the  minister. 

"  I  suppose  so  ;  and  it  is  my  duty  to  tell  you  that  it  is 
a  very  cruel  thing  ;  for  her  intelligence  reaches  no  fur 
ther  than  the  one  essential  thing  which  makes  her  a 
Christian  child,  viz.,  personal  loyalty  to  the  Master. 
Beyond  this  she  knows  absolutely  nothing,  and  for  her 
it  is  enough.  To  insist  that  she  shall  receive  a  whole 
body  of  divinity  about  which  she  is  utterly  ignorant,  and 
which,  at  present,  has  no  relation  to  her  Christian  char 
acter  and  life,  is  to  do  that  which  you  have  no  right  to 
do.  When  Jesus  took  little  children  in  his  arms  and 
blessed  them,  and  declared  that  of  such  was  the  king 
dom  of  heaven,  he  did  not  impose  any  conditions  upon 
them.  It  was  sufficient  for  him  that  they  were  in  his 
arms,  and  had  trust  and  confidence  enough  to  nestle  and 
be  contented  and  happy  there.  You  take  the  responsi 
bility  of  going  beyond  him,  and  of  making  conditions 
which  cannot  be  complied  with  without  a  surrender  of 
all  future  liberty  of  thought  and  opinion.  You  have 
members  in  your  church  to-day  who  committed  them 
selves  to  opinions  when  young,  or  under  excitement,  that 
they  now  hold  most  loosely,  or  with  questionings  that 
are  a  constant  torture  to  them.  I  know  it,  for  they  have 
told  me  so  ;  and  I  cannot  consent  that  my  child  shall  be 
denied  the  free  and  unrestrained  formation  of  opinions 
when  her  maturer  mind  becomes  able  to  form  them. 
The  reason  that  has  no  range  but  the  bounds  of  a  creed, 
constructed  by  human  hands,  will  become  dwarfed  as 
certainly  as  the  wings  of  a  bird  are  weakened  by  the 
wires  of  a  cage." 

Mr.  Grimshaw  listened  attentively  to  the  speaker,  and 
then  said  :  "  I  fear  that  your  ideas  would  form  a  very 
poor  basis  for  a  church.  We  should  be  deprived  of  any 
principle  or  power  of  cohesion,  without  unity  of  belief. 
Such  liberty  as  you  desire,  or  seem  to  think  desirable, 


Arthur  Bonnicastlc.  179 

would  soon  degenerate  into  license.  The  experience  of 
the  church  has  proved  it,  and  the  united  wisdom  of  the 
church  has  declared  it." 

"My  ideas  of  the  true  basis  of  the  church  are  very 
simple,"  said  Mr.  Bradford.  "  I  would  make  it  an  or 
ganization  of  Christian  disciples — of  Christian  learners  ; 
you  would  make  it  a  conservatory  of  those  who  have  ar 
rived  at  the  last  conclusions  in  dogmatic  theology.  I 
would  make  it  a  society  of  those  who  have  accepted  the 
Master,  and  pledged  their  hearts  and  lives  to  him,  with 
everything  to  learn  and  the  liberty  to  learn  it  by  such 
means  as  they  can  command  ;  you  would  frame  it  with 
limits  to  all  progress.  You  would  make  it  a  school 
where  all  are  professors  ;  I  would  make  it  a  school  where 
all  are  learners.  In  short,  you  would  make  a  sectarian 
church,  and  I  would  make  a  Christian  church ;  and  I 
cannot  but  believe  that  there  is  such  a  church  awaiting 
us  in  the  future — a  church  which  will  receive  both  me 
and  my  daughter,  to  give  me  the  rest  and  fellowship  I 
long  for,  and  her  the  nurture,  restraint,  and  support 
which  she  will  need  among  the  world's  great  tempta 
tions." 

I  do  not  know  what  the  minister  thought  of  all  this,  for 
he  said  but  little.  He  had  been  accustomed  to  these 
discussions  with  Mr.  Bradford,  and  either  deemed  them 
unfruitful  of  good  or  found  it  difficult  to  maintain  his 
position.  He  felt  sure  of  me,  and  did  not  regard  it  of 
consequence  to  talk  on  my  account.  As  Mr.  Bradford 
closed,  he  sighed  and  said  :  "  Well,  Millie,  I  suppose 
you  will  do  as  your  father  wishes,  and  stay  away  from 
us." 

Millie  looked  at  her  father  and  then  at  her  mother, 
with  a  quick,  earnest  glance  of  inquiry. 

Mrs.  Bradford  said  :  "  Mr.  Bradford  and  I  never  differ 
on  anything  relating  to  our  child.  So  far  as  our  creed  is 
concerned  I  am  entirely  content  with  it ;  but  I  have  no 


r8o  ArtJiur  Bonnicastle. 

wish  to  commit  my  child  to  it,  though  I  freely  instruct 
her  in  it." 

'"Very  well,"  said  the  minister,  "perhaps  it  will  be 
better  to  leave  her  with  you  for  the  present." 

Then  he  advanced  to  Mr.  Bradford  for  a  private  con 
ference  upon  some  other  subject,  apparently,  and  Millie 
started  quickly  and  walked  to  the  window,  where  I  joine-d 
her. 

"Aren't  you  sorry  ?  "  I  inquired. 

"No." 

"  I  thought  you  would  be,"  I  said. 

"  No,  it  is  all  right.  Father  knows.  Don't  you  think 
he's  splendid  ?  " 

"  I  suppose  he  thinks  he's  right,"  I  responded. 

"  Why,  I  know  he's  right,"  she  said  warmly.  "  He's 
always  right  ;  and  isn't  it  sweet  of  him  to  let  me  hear 
him  talk  about  everything?  " 

Here  was  the  personal  loyalty  again.  Beyond  this  the 
girl  could  not  go.  She  could  trust  her  father  and  her 
Master.  She  could  obey  both  and  love  both,  and  it  was 
all  of  religion  that  she  was  capable  of.  I  supposed  that 
the  minister  must  know  better  than  any  of  us,  but  I  had 
no  doubt  of  Millie's  fitness  for  the  church,  and  wondered 
why  it  was  that  a  baptized  child  should  be  shut  out  of  the 
fold  by  a  creed  she  was  utterly  incapable  of  comprehend 
ing.  I  confess,  too,  that  I  sympathized  with  Mr.  Brad 
ford's  view  of  the  church  as  it  related  to  himself;  yet  I 
had  given  my  trust  to  the  minister,  and  it  was  only  my 
personal  loyalty  to  him  that  reconciled  me  to  his  oppos 
ing  opinions.  Then  there  flashed  upon  me  the  con 
sciousness  that  I  was  to  profess  before  God  and  men  a 
belief  in  dogmas  that  1  had  not  even  examined,  and  was 
entirely  without  the  power  of  explaining  or  defending  to 
myself  or  others.  The  fact  made  me  tremble,  and  I  dis 
missed  it  as  soon  as  possible. 

I  fear  that  I  should  weary  my  reader  by  dwelling  upon 


Arthur  Bonnicastle.  181 

the  spiritual  experiences  that  attended  the  assumption 
of  my  vows.  Since  the  memorable  day  on  which  I  stood 
among  twenty  others,  and  publicly  pledged  my  life  to 
the  Redeemer,  and  gave  my  unqualified  assent  to  the 
doctrines  of  the  creed,  I  have  never  been  able  to  witness 
a  similar  scene  without  tears.  With  all  the  trust  natural 
to  youth  I  received  that  which  was  presented  to  me,  and 
with  all  the  confidence  of  youth  in  its  own  power  to  ful 
fil  its  promises,  I  entered  into  the  most  solemn  cove 
nant  which  man  can  make.  There  was  no  suspicion  in 
me  of  a  possible  reaction.  There  was  no  anticipation 
of  temptations  before  which  I  should  tremble  or  fall. 
There  was  no  cloud  that  portended  darkness  or  storm. 
I  regarded  myself  as  entering  a  fold  from  which  I  should 
go  out  no  more,  save  under  the  conduct  and  ward  of  a 
Shepherd  who  would  lead  me  only  through  green  pas 
tures  and  beside  still  waters. 

All  my  friends,  including  Mrs.  Sanderson,  were  pres 
ent.  Mr.  Bradford  and  his  family  sat  near  me,  and  I 
saw  that  he  had  been  deeply  moved.  He  read  the  fu 
ture  better  than  I,  and  saw  before  my  intense  and  vola 
tile  spirit  that  which  I  could  not  see.  He  knew  the  his 
tory  of  one  human  heart,  and  he  interpreted  the  future 
of  mine  by  his  own.  At  the  close  of  the  services  Mrs. 
Sanderson  drove  home  alone  with  Jenks  ;  and  the  Brad- 
fords  with  Henry  and  my  own  family  walked  home  to 
gether.  As  I  left  my  father  at  his  door,  with  Henry 
and  Claire,  I  found  myself  with  Millie.  We  fell  behind 
her  father  and  mother,  and  after  she  had  looked  around 
to  make  sure  that  she  was  not  observed,  she  unfolded 
her  handkerchief  and  showed  me  a  crumb  of  the  sacra- 
'mental  bread. 

"  Where  did  you  get  it  ?  "  I  inquired. 

"  I  prayed  that  it  might  drop  when  it  was  handed  to 
my  mother,  and  it  did,"  she  replied. 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do  with  it  ?  "  I  inquired. 


1 82  ArtJiur  Bonnicastle. 

"  I  am  going  to  my  room  when  I  get  home,  and  have 
a  communion  all  by  myself." 

"  But  do  you  think  it  will  be  right  ?"  I  inquired. 

"  I  don't  think  He  will  care.  He  knows  that  I  love 
Him,  and  that  it  is  the  only  chance  I  have.  It  is  His 
bread,  and  came  from  His  table,  and  Mr.  Grimshaw  has 
nothing  to  do  with  it." 

I  was  dumb  with  astonishment,  and  could  offer  no  re 
monstrance.  Indeed,  I  sympathized  with  her  so  much 
that  I  could  not  have  deprived  her  of  her  anticipated 
enjoyment. 

Then  I  asked  her  what  she  would  do  for  wine. 

"  I  shall  kiss  my  mother's  lips,"  she  replied,  and  then 
added  :  "  I  wonder  if  she  will  know  that  anything  is 
gone,  as  the  Saviour  did  when  the  woman  touched 
him  ?  " 

I  think  if  I  could  have  retired  with  Millie  to  her  se 
clusion,  and  shared  her  crumb  away  from  the  eyes  of  a 
curious  world,  and  the  distractions  of  the  public  gaze,  I 
should  have  come  out  stronger  and  purer  for  the  feast. 
I  left  her  at  her  door,  and  went  slowly  home,  imagining 
the  little  girl  at  prayer,  and  tasting  the  crumb  which 
had  fallen  from  the  Master's  table.  The  thought  of  the 
reverent  kiss  which  the  mother  was  to  receive  that  night, 
all  unconscious  of  the  draught  of  spiritual  comfort  which 
her  child  would  quaff  there,  quite  overcame  me. 

And  it  was  this  child,  with  her  quick  insight  and  im 
plicit  faith,  that  had  been  shut  out  of  the  fold  because 
she  had  no  opinions !  It  was  her  father,  too,  carefully 
seeking  and  prayerfully  learning,  who  had  been  refused 
admittance,  because  he  would  not  surrender  his  reason 
and  his  liberty  of  thought !  Already  I  began  to  doubt 
the  infallibility  of  my  Pope.  Already  there  had  crept 
into  my  mind  the  suspicion  that  there  was  something 
wrong  in  a  policy  which  made  more  of  sound  opinions 
than  of  sound  character.  Already  I  felt  that  there  wa? 


Arthur  Bonnicastle.  183 

something  about  these  two  persons  that  was  higher  in 
Christian  experience  than  anything  I  could  claim.  Al 
ready  I  had  become  dimly  conscious  of  a  spiritual  pride 
in  myself,  that  I  did  not  see  in  them,  and  convinced 
that  they  were  better  fitted  to  adorn  a  Christian  profes 
sion  than  myself. 

So  the  struggle  was  over,  and  1  was  called  upon  by  the 
rapidly  advancing  spring  to  resume  the  studies  which 
had  long  been  interrupted.  As  I  addressed  myself  with 
strong  determination  to  my  work,  I  was  conscious  of  a 
greatly  impaired  power  of  application.  The  effect  of 
the  winter's  excitement  and  absorption  had  been  to  dis 
sipate  my  mental  power,  and  destroy  my  habits  of  men 
tal  labor.  It  took  me  many  weeks  to  get  back  upon  my 
old  track,  and  I  was  led  through  many  discouragements. 
When  I  had  fairly  accomplished  my  purpose  and  felt 
that  I  was  making  genuine  progress,  I  discovered  that 
it  was  impossible  to  keep  up  the  public  life  I  had  been 
leading,  and  the  zeal  which  had  spurred  me  on  in  my 
Christian  work.  For  weeks  I  faithfully  continued  my 
attendance  on  the  meetings  of  the  church,  which,  by 
becoming  less  frequent,  had  adapted  themselves  some 
what  to  my  new  circumstances,  but  to  my  great  sorrow 
I  found  my  zest  in  their  exercises  gradually  dying  away. 
I  prayed  often  and  long  that  I  might  not  become  a  back 
slider,  and  that  the  joy  and  comfort  of  the  early  days 
might  abide  with  me.  It  was  all  in  vain.  The  excite 
ment  of  sympathetic  crowds  and  the  predominance  of  a 
single  topic  in  the  public  mind  had  passed  away,  and, 
unsupported  by  those  stimuli,  I  was  left  to  stand  alone — 
an  uncertain,  tottering,  self-suspicious  youth — with  the 
great  work  of  life  all  before  me. 

Gradually  the  old  motives  which  had  actuated  me 
came  back  and  presented  themselves  ;  and  to  my  sad 
surprise  they  found  that  in  me  which  responded  to 
them.  The  wealth  which  had  held  before  me  its  glit- 


1 84  Arthur  Bonnicastle. 

tering  promise  still  possessed  its  charming  power,  and 
suggested  its  worldly  delights.  The  brilliant  college  ca 
reer  which  I  had  determined  to  achieve  for  honor's  and 
glory's  sake  came  up  to  me  among  my  suspended  pur 
poses,  and  shone  with  all  its  old  attractions.  The  pride 
of  dress  and  social  position  was  not  dead — it  had  only 
slept,  and  waited  but  a  touch  and  a  nod  to  spring  into 
life  again.  The  temptations  which  the  world  held  for 
my  sensuous  nature  found  my  appetites  and  passions 
still  unsubdued. 

Then  there  came  upon  me  first  the  conviction  and  the 
consciousness  that  my  life  was  to  be  one  of  warfare,  if  it 
was  to  be  a  Christian  life  at  all — that  I  was  really  back 
upon  my  old  ground,  and  that  whatever  of  genuine  prog 
ress  I  should  make  would  be  through  prayerful,  rigid, 
persistent  culture.  That  there  was  something  unspeak 
ably  discouraging  in  this,  I  need  not  affirm.  It  had  the 
power  to  make  the  experiences  through  which  I  had  so 
recently  passed  seem  altogether  hollow  and  unreal.  I 
had  only  dreamed  of  regeneration,  after  all.  The  new 
birth  had  only  been  the  birth  of  a  purpose,  which 
needed  nursing  and  strengthening  and  educating  like  an 
infant. 

Still  I  would  not,  could  not,  admit  that  I  had  not 
made  the  genuine  beginning  of  a  religious  life.  If  I  had 
done  this,  I  should  have  grown  callous  or  desperate  at 
once. 

And  now  I  beg  the  privilege  of  saying  to  those  who 
may  be  interested  in  this  narrative,  that  I  have  not  ad 
dressed  myself  to  the  task  of  writing  down  revivals.  I 
am  detailing  the  experiences  of  a  human  soul.  That 
revivals  are  useful  in  communities  where  great  excite 
ments  are  necessary  to  attract  the  attention  of  the  care 
less  and  the  vicious,  I  can  well  believe.  That  multi 
tudes  begin  a  religious  life  through  their  influence  there 
is  no  doubt.  That  they  are  dangerous  passages  for  the 


Arthur  Bonnicasile.  185 

church  to  pass  through  would  seem  also  to  be  well  es 
tablished,  as  by  the  laws  of  the  human  mind  all  great 
excitements  and  all  extraordinary  labors  are  followed 
by  corresponding  depressions  and  exhaustions.  I  se 
riously  doubt  whether  Christian  growth  is  greatly  for 
warded  by  these  exceptional  agencies.  All  true  growth 
in  the  realm  of  nature  is  the  result  of  a  steady  unfolding 
from  a  germ  :  and  the  realm  of  grace  is  ruled  by  the 
same  Being  who  perfects  the  flower  and  builds  the  tree. 
I  can  afford  to  be  misconstrued,  misunderstood,  and 
misrepresented,  if  I  can  do  anything  to  direct  the  atten 
tion  of  the  church  to  the  fact  that  there  are  better  meth 
ods  of  progress  than  those  which  are  attended  with  such 
cost  and  such  danger,  and  that  in  the  Christian  nurture 
of  children  and  the  wide  opening  of  the  Christian  fold 
to  them  abides  the  hope  of  the  church  and  the  world. 
I  shall  be  ten  thousand  times  repaid  for  any  suspicion 
of  my  motives,  if  I  can  bring  a  single  pastor,  or  a  single 
church,  to  the  realization  of  the  fact  that  true  Christian 
beginnings  are  not  necessarily  conformed  to  any  special 
dramatic  experience  ;  that  a  pastor  can  lead  his  flock 
better  than  a  stranger  whose  voice  they  do  not  know, 
and  that  their  creeds  are  longer  and  more  elaborate 
than  they  have  any  right  to  make.  If  the  labor  ex 
pended  upon  revivals  were  spread  evenly  over  greater 
space,  and  applied  with  never-flagging  persistency  to 
the  shaping  and  the  nurture  of  the  plastic  and  docile 
minds  of  the  young,  I  am  sure  that  the  Christian  king 
dom  would  increase  in  numbers  and  advance  in  power 
by  a  progress  at  once  natural,  healthy,  and  irresistible. 
The  fiery  shower  that  pours  its  flood  upon  the  earth  in 
an  hour,  leaves  the  ground  fresh  for  the  day,  but  it  also 
leaves  it  scarred  and  seamed,  the  swollen  torrents  carry 
ing  half  its  wealth  into  the  sea,  while  the  steady  rain  of 
days  sinks  into  the  earth  to  nourish  the  roots  of  all 
things,  and  make  the  springs  perennial. 


1 86  Arthur  Bonnicastle. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

THE   OLD    PORTRAIT   IS    DISCOVERED    AND    OLD    JENKS 
HAS  A  REAL  VOYAGE  AT  SEA. 

THE  spring  passed  quickly  away,  and  the  fervors  of  the 
June  sun  were  upon  us.  Mrs.  Sanderson,  whose  health 
had  been  a  marvel  of  uniformity,  became  ill,  and  showed 
signs  of  that  failure  of  the  vital  power  which  comes  at  last 
to  all.  She  was  advised  by  her  physician  that  she  needed 
a  change  of  air,  and  encouraged  to  believe  that  if  she 
should  get  relief  at  once  she  might  retain  her  hold  upon 
life  for  some  years  longer.  Arrangements  were  accord 
ingly  perfected  to  send  her  with  a  trusty  maid  to  a  water 
ing-place  a  few  leagues  distant.  I  have  no  doubt  that 
she  had  come  to  look  upon  death  as  not  far  away  from 
her,  and  that  she  had  contemplated  the  possibility  of  its 
visitation  while  absent  from  home.  I  could  see  that  her 
eye  was  troubled  and  anxious.  Her  lawyer  was  with  her 
for  two  days  before  her  departure. 

On  the  morning  before  she  left  she  called  me  into  her 
little  library,  and  delivering  her  keys  into  my  keeping, 
said  : 

"  I  have  nothing  to  tell  you,  Arthur,  except  that  all 
my  affairs  are  arranged,  so  that  if  I  should  never  return 
you  will  find  everything  in  order.  You  know  my  ways 
and  wishes.  Follow  out  your  plans  regarding  yourself, 
and  my  lawyer  will  tell  you  of  mine.  Maintain  the  posi 
tion  and  uphold  the  honor  of  this  house.  It  will  be  yours. 
I  cannot  take  it  with  me  ;  I  have  no  one  else  to  leave  it 
to — and  yet " 

She  was  more  softened  than  I  had  ever  seen  her,  and 
her  sad  and  helpless  look  quite  overwhelmed  me.  I  had 
so  long  expected  her  munificence  that  this  affected  me 


Arthur  Bonnicastle.  187 

much  less  than  the  change,  physical  and  mental,  which 
had  passed  over  her. 

"  My  dear,  precious  Aunt,"  I  said,  "  you  are  not  go 
ing  to  die.  I  cannot  let  you  die.  I  am  too  young  to  spare 
you.  You  will  go  away,  and  get  well,  and  live  a  long 
time." 

Then  I  kissed  her,  and  thanked  her  for  her  persistent 
kindness  and  her  splendid  gifts,  in  words  that  seemed  so 
poor  and  inadequate  that  I  was  quite  distressed. 

She  was  deeply  moved.  Her  physical  weakness  was 
such  that  the  iron  rule  of  her  will  over  her  emotions  was 
broken.  I  believe  she  would  have  been  glad  to  have 
me  take  her  in  my  arms,  like  a  child,  and  comfort  her. 
After  sitting  awhile  in  silence,  I  said  :  "  Please  tell  me 
what  you  were  thinking  of  when  you  said  :  '  And  yet '  ?  " 

She  gave  me  no  direct  reply,  but  said  :  "  Do  you  re 
member  the  portrait  of  a  boy  which  you  saw  when  you 
first  came  to  the  house  ?  " 

"  Perfectly,"  I  replied. 

"  This  key,"  said  she,  taking  the  bunch  of  keys  from 
my  hand  which  I  still  held,  "  will  open  a  door  in  the 
dining-room,  which  you  have  never  seen  opened.  You 
know  where  it  is.  After  I  am  gone  away,  I  wish  you  to 
open  that  closet,  and  take  out  the  portrait,  and  hang  it 
just  where  it  was  before.  I  wish  to  have  it  hang  there  as 
long  as  the  house  stands.  You  have  learned  not  to  ask 
any  questions.  If  ever  I  come  back,  I  shall  find  it  there. 
If  I  do  not,  you  will  keep  it  there  for  my  sake." 

I  promised  to  obey  her  will  in  every  particular,  and 
then  the  carriage  drove  up  to  bear  her  away.  Our  part 
ing  was  very  quiet,  but  full  of  feeling  ;  and  I  saw  her 
turn  and  look  back  affectionately  at  the  old  house,  as 
she  passed  slowly  down  the  hill. 

I  was  thus  left  alone — with  the  old  servant  Jenks — the 
master  of  The  Mansion.  It  will  be  readily  imagined 
that,  still  retaining  my  curiosity  with  regard  to  the  pic- 


1 88  Arthur  Bonnicastle. 

ture,  I  lost  no  time  in  finding  it.  Sending  Jenks  away 
on  some  unimportant  errand,  I  entered  the  dining-room, 
and  locked  myself  in.  Under  a  most  fascinating  excite 
ment  I  inserted  the  key  in  the  lock  of  the  closet.  The 
bolt  was  moved  with  difficulty,  like  one  long  unused. 
Throwing  open  the  door,  I  looked  in.  First  I  saw  an 
old  trunk,  the  covering  of  rawhide,  fastened  by  brass 
nails  which  had  turned  green  with  rust.  I  lifted  the  lid, 
and  found  it  full  of  papers.  I  had  already  caught  a 
glimpse  of  the  picture,  yet  by  a  curious  perversity  of  will 
I  insisted  on  seeing  it  last.  Next  I  came  upon  an  old 
punch-bowl,  a  reminder  of  the  days  when  there  were 
men  and  revelry  in  the  house.  It  was  made  of  silver, 
and  had  the  Bonnicastle  arms  upon  its  side.  How  old  it 
was,  I  could  not  tell,  but  it  was  evidently  an  heirloom. 
A  rusty  musket  stood  in  one  corner,  of  the  variety  then' 
know  as  "  Queen's  Arms."  In  another  corner  hung  a 
military  coat,  trimmed  with  gold  lace.  The  wreck  of  an 
ancient  and  costly  clock  stood  upon  a  shelf,  the  pendu 
lum  of  which  was  a  swing,  with  a  little  child  in  it.  I  re 
member  feeling  a  whimsical  pity  for  the  child  that  had 
waited  for  motion  so  long  in  the  darkness,  and  so  reached 
up  and  set  him  swinging,  as  he  had  done  so  many  mil 
lion  times  in  the  years  that  were  dead  and  gone.  I  lin 
gered  long  upon  every  article,  and  wondered  how  many 
centuries  it  would  take  of  such  seclusion  to  dissolve  them 
all  into  dust. 

I  had  no  excuse  for  withholding  my  eyes  from  the  pic 
ture  any  longer.  I  lifted  it  carefully  from  the  nail  where 
it  hung,  and  set  it  down  by  the  dining-room  wall.  Then 
I  closed  and  locked  the  door.  Not  until  I  had  carefully 
cleaned  the  painting,  and  dusted  the  frame,  and  hung  it 
in  its  old  place,  did  I  venture  to  look  at  it  with  any 
thought  of  careful  study  ;  and  even  this  observation  I 
determined  to  take  first  from  the  point  where  I  sat  when 
I  originally  discovered  it.  I  arranged  the  light  to  strike 


Arthur  Bonnicastle.  189 

it  at  the  right  angle,  and  then  opening  the  passage  into 
the  library,  went  and  sat  down  precisely  where  I  had  sat 
nearly  six  years  before,  under  the  spell  of  Mrs.  Sander 
son's  command.  I  had  already,  while  handling  it,  found 
the  date  of  the  picture,  and  the  name  of  the  painter  on 
the  back  of  the  canvas,  and  knew  that  the  lad  whom  it 
represented  had  become  a  man  considerably  past  middle 
life,  or,  what  seemed  more  probable,  remembering  Mrs. 
Sanderson's  strange  actions  in  regard  to  it,  a  heap  of 
dust  and  ashes. 

With  my  first  long  look  at  the  picture  came  back  the 
old  days  ;  and  I  was  again  a  little  boy,  with  all  my 
original  interest  in  the  beautiful  young  face.  I  expected 
to  see  a  likeness  of  Henry,  but  Henry  had  grown  up  and 
changed,  and  I  found  it  quite  impossible  to  take  him 
back  in  my  imagination  to  the  point  where  his  face 
answered,  in  any  considerable  degree,  to  the  lineaments 
of  this.  Still  there  was  a  likeness,  indefinable,  far  back 
in  the  depths  of  expression,  and  hovering  around  the 
contour  of  the  face  and  head,  that  at  first  puzzled  me, 
and  at  last  convinced  me  that,  if  I  could  get  at  the 
secrets  of  my  friend's  life,  I  should  find  that  he  was  a 
Bonnicastle.  I  had  often  while  at  school,  in  unexpected 
glimpses  of  Henry's  features,  been  startled  by  the  re 
semblance  of  his  face  to  some  of  the  members  of  my 
own  family.  The  moment  I  studied  his  features,  how 
ever,  the  likeness  was  gone.  It  was  thus  with  the  pic 
ture.  Analysis  spoiled  it  as  the  likeness  of  my  friend, 
yet  it  had  a  subtle  power  to  suggest  him,  and  to  con 
vince  me  that  he  was  a  sharer  of  the  family  blood. 

I  cannot  say,  much  as  I  loved  Henry,  that  I  was 
pleased  with  my  discovery.  Nor  was  I  pleased  with  the 
reflections  which  it  stirred  in  me  ;  for  I  saw  through 
them  something  of  the  mercenary  meanness  of  my  own 
character.  I  was  glad  that  Mrs.  Sanderson  had  never 
seen  him.  I  was  glad  that  he  had  declined  her  invita- 


190  Arthur  Bonnicastle. 

tion,  and  that  she  had  come  to  regard  him  with  such 
dislike  that  she  would  not  even  hear  his  name  men 
tioned.  I  knew  that  if  he  were  an  accepted  visitor  of 
the  house  I  should  be  jealous  of  him,  for  I  was  conscious 
of  his  superiority  to  me  in  many  points,  and  felt  that 
Mrs.  Sanderson  would  find  much  in  him  that  would 
please  her.  His  quiet  bearing,  his  steadiness,  his  per 
sonal  beauty,  his  steadfast  integrity,  would  all  be  appre 
ciated  by  her  ;  and  I  was  sure  she  could  not  fail  to  de 
tect  in  him  the  family  likeness. 

Angry  with  myself  for  indulging  such  unworthy 
thoughts,  I  sprang  to  my  feet,  and  went  nearer  to  the 
picture — went  where  I  could  see  it  best.  As  I  ap 
proached  it,  the  likeness  to  Henry  gradually  faded,  and 
what  was  Bonnicastle  in  the  distance  became  something 
of  another  name  and  blood.  Another  nature  mingled 
strangely  with  that  to  which  I  was  consciously  kindred. 
Beneath  the  soft  veil  which  gentle  blood  had  thrown  over 
the  features,  there  couched  something  base  and  bru 
tal.  Somewhere  in  the  family  history  of  the  person  it 
represented  the  spaniel  had  given  herself  to  the  wolf. 
Sheathed  within  the  foot  of  velvet  was  hidden  a  talon  of 
steel.  Under  those  beautiful  features  lay  the  capacity  of 
cruelty  and  crime.  It  was  a  wonderful  revelation,  and 
it  increased  rather  than  lessened  the  fascination  which 
the  picture  exerted  upon  me.  Not  until  an  hour  had 
passed  away,  and  I  knew  that  Jenks  had  returned  from 
his  errand,  did  I  silently  unlock  the  doors  of  the  dining-i 
room  and  go  to  my  chamber  for  study. 

When  the  dinner-hour  arrived,  I  was  served  alone. 
Jenks  had  set  the  table  without  discovering  the  returned 
picture,  but  in  one  of  the  pauses  of  his  service  he  start 
ed  and  turned  pale. 

((  What  is  the  matter,  Jenks?"  I  said. 

f-  Nothing,"  he  replied.  "  I  thought  it  was  burned 
It  ought  to  be." 


Artliur  Bonnicastle.  191 

It  was  the  first  intimation  that  I  had  ever  received 
that  he  knew  anything  about  the  subject  of  the  picture  ; 
but  I  asked  him  no  more  questions — first,  because  I 
thought  it  would  virtually  be  a  breach  of  the  confidence 
which  its  owner  had  reposed  in  me,  and,  second,  be 
cause  I  was  so  sure  of  Jenks' reticence  that  I  knew  I  had 
nothing  to  gain  by  asking.  He  had  kept  his  place  be 
cause  he  could  hold  his  tongue.  Still,  the  fact  that  he 
could  tell  me  all  I  wanted  to  know  had  the  power  to 
heighten  my  curiosity,  and  to  fill  me  with  a  discomfort 
of  which  I  was  ashamed. 

A  few  days  of  lonely  life  passed  away,  in  which,  for 
a  defence  against  my  loneliness,  I  devoted  myself  with 
unusual  diligence  to  study.  The  first  letter  I  received 
from  Mrs.  Sanderson  contained  the  good  news  that  her 
strong  and  elastic  constitution  had  responded  favorably 
to  the  change  of  air  and  place.  Indeed,  she  was  doing 
so  well  that  she  had  concluded  to  stay  by  the  sea  during 
the  summer,  if  she  should  continue  to  find  herself  im 
proving  in  strength.  I  was  very  much  relieved,  for  in 
truth  I  had  no  wish  to  assume  the  cares  of  the  wealth 
she  would  leave  me.  I  was  grateful,  too,  to  find  that  I 
had  a  genuine  affection  for  her,  and  that  my  solicitude 
was  not  altogether  selfish. 

One  warm  evening,  just  before  sunset,  I  took  a  chair 
from  the  hall  and  placed  it  upon  the  landing  of  the  steps 
that  led  from  the  garden  to  the  door,  between  the  sleep 
ing  lions,  and  sat  down  to  enjoy  the  fresh  air  of  the  com 
ing  twilight.  I  had  a  book  in  my  hand,  but  I  was  weary 
and  listless,  and  sat  looking  off  upon  the  town.  Pres 
ently  I  heard  the  sound  of  voices  and  laughter  from  the 
hill  below  me;  and  soon  there  came  in  sight  a. little 
group  whose  approach  made  my  heart  leap  with  delight. 
Henry,  Claire  and  Millie  were  coming  to  make  a  call 
upon  their  lonely  friend. 

I  greeted  them  heartily  at  a  distance,  and  Henry,  with 


1 92  Art hur  Bonnicastle. 

his  hat  in  his  hand,  walking  between  the  two  girls,  saun 
tered  up  to  the  house,  looking  it  over,  as  it  seemed  to  me, 
very  carefully.  Suddenly,  Millie  sprang  to  the  side  of 
the  road,  and  plucked  a  flower  which  she  insisted  upon 
placing  in  the  button-hole  of  his  coat.  He  bent  to  her 
while  she  fastened  it.  It  was  the  work  of  an  instant,  yet 
there  was  in  it  that  which  showed  me  that  the  girl  was 
fond  of  him,  and  that,  young  as  she  was,  she  pleased 
him.  I  was  in  a  mood  to  be  jealous.  The  thoughts  I 
had  indulged  in  while  looking  at  the  picture,  and  the 
belief  that  Henry  had  Claire's  heart  in  full  possession,  to 
say  nothing  of  certain  plans  of  my  own  with  regard  to 
Millie,  reaching  far  into  the  future — plans  very  vague 
and  shadowy,  but  covering  sweet  possibilities — awoke  a 
feeling  in  my  heart  toward  Henry  which  I  am  sure  made 
my  courtesies  seem  strangely  constrained. 

I  invited  the  group  into  the  house,  and  Claire  and 
Millie  accepted  the  invitation  at  once.  Henry  hesitated, 
and  finally  said  that  he  did  not  care  to  go  in.  The  even 
ing  was  so  pleasant  that  he  would  sit  upon  the  steps 
until  we  returned.  Remembering  his  repeated  refusals 
to  go  home  with  me  from  school,  and  thinking,  for  a 
reason  which  I  could  not  have  shaped  into  words,  that  I 
did  not  wish  to  have  him  see  the  picture  in  the  dining- 
room,  I  did  not  urge  him.  So  the  two  girls  and  myself 
went  in,  and  walked  over  the  house.  Millie  had  been 
there  before  with  her  mother,  but  it  was  the  first  time 
that  Claire's  maidenly  figure  had  ever  entered  the  door. 
The  dining-room  had  already  been  darkened  for  the 
night,  and  we  only  looked  in  and  took  a  hurried  glimpse 
of  its  shadowy  furniture,  and  left  it.  Both  the  girls  were 
curious  to  see  my  room,  and  to  that  we  ascended.  The 
outlook  was  so  pleasant  and  the  chairs  were  so  inviting 
that,  after  looking  at  the  pictures  and  the  various  taste 
ful  appointments  with  which  the  room  had  been  fur 
nished,  we  all  sat  down,  and  in  our  merry  conversation 


ArtJiur  Bonnicastle.  193 

quite  forgot  Henry,  and  the  fact  that  he  was  waiting  for 
us  to  rejoin  him. 

Near  the  close  of  our  pleasant  session  I  was  conscious 
that  feet  were  moving  in  the  room  below.  Then  I  heard 
the  sound  of  opening  or  closing  shutters.  My  first 
thought  was  that  Jenks  had  come  in  on  some  errand. 
Interrupted  in  this  thought  by  the  conversation  in  prog 
ress,  the  matter  was  put  out  of  my  mind  for  a  moment. 
Then  it  returned,  and  as  I  reflected  that  Jenks  had  no 
business  in  that  part  of  the  house  at  that  hour,  I  became 
uneasy. 

"  We  have  quite  forgotten  Henry,"  I  said;  and  we  all 
rose  to  our  feet  and  walked  down  stairs. 

Millie  was  at  the  foot  in  a  twinkling,  and  exclaimed  : 
"  Why,  he  isn't  here  !  He  is  gone  !  " 

I  said  not  a  word,  but  went  straight  to  the  dining- 
room.  Every  shutter  was  open,  and  there  stood  Henry 
before  the  picture.  He  appeared  to  be  entirely  uncon 
scious  of  my  entrance  ;  so,  stepping  up  behind  him,  I 
put  my  hand  upon  his  shoulder,  and  said  :  "  Well,  how 
do  you  like  it  ?  " 

He  started  as  if  I  had  struck  him,  trembled,  and 
turned  pale. 

"  The  fact  is,  I  got  tired  with  waiting,  my  boy,"  he 
said,  "and  so  came  in  to  explore,  you  know,  ha!  ha! 
ha  !  Quite  an  old  curiosity-shop,  isn't  it  ?  Oh!  '  How 
do  I  like  it  ?  '  Yes,  quite  a  picture — quite  a  picture, 
ha  !  ha !  ha !  " 

There  certainly  was  no  likeness  in  the  picture  to  the 
Henry  who  stood  before  it  then.  Haggard,  vacant,  con 
vulsed  with  feeling  which  it  was  impossible  for  him  to 
conceal,  he  stood  before  it  as  if  fastened  to  the  spot  by 
a  relentless  spell.  I  took  him  by  the  arm  and  led  him 
into  the  open  air,  with  his  hollow-sounding  voice  and  his 
forced,  mechanical  laugh  still  ringing  in  my  ears.  Thfi 
girls  were  alarmed,  and  asked  him  if  he  were  ill. 


194  Arthur  Bonnicastle. 

"  Not  in  the  least,"  he  replied,  with  another  attempt 
at  a  laugh  which  made  me  shiver.  The  quick  instinct 
of  his  companions  recognized  the  fact  that  something 
unpleasant  had  happened,  and  so,  overcoming  the  chill 
which  his  voice  and  manner  had  thrown  upon  them,  they 
thanked  me  for  showing  them  the  old  house,  and  de 
clared  that  it  was  time  for  them  to  go  home.  Bidding 
me  a  hearty  good-night,  they  started  and  went  out  of 
the  gate.  Henry  lingered,  holding  my  hand  for  a  mo 
ment,  and  then,  finding  it  impossible  to  shape  the  apol 
ogy  he  had  evidently  intended  to  make,  abruptly  left 
me,  and  joined  the  girls.  They  quickly  passed  out  of 
sight,  Claire  tossing  me  a  kiss  as  she  disappeared,  and 
I  was  left  alone. 

I  was,  of  course,  more  mystified  than  ever.  I  did  not 
think  it  strange  or  ill-mannered  for  Henry  to  enter  the 
dining-room  unattended,  for  I  had  invited  him  in,  I  had 
kept  him  long  waiting,  and  there  was  no  one  to  be  dis 
turbed  by  his  entrance,  as  he  knew  ;  but  I  was  more 
convinced  than  ever  that  there  was  some  strange  con 
nection  between  that  picture  and  his  destiny  and  mine. 
I  was  convinced,  too,  that  by  some  means  he  had  recog 
nized  the  fact  as  well  as  I.  I  tossed  upon  my  bed  until 
midnight  in  nervous  wakefulness,  thinking  it  over,  per 
mitting  my  imagination  to  construct  a  thousand  im 
probable  possibilities,  and  chafing  under  the  pledge  that 
forbade  me  to  ask  a  question  of  friend  or  servant. 

It  was  a  week  before  I  saw  him  again,  and  then  I  found 
him  quite  self-possessed,  though  there  was  a  shadow  of 
restraint  upon  him.  No  allusion  was  made  to  the  inci 
dent  in  the  dining-room,  and  it  gradually  fell  back  into 
a  memory,  among  the  things  that  were,  to  be  recalled 
years  afterward  in  the  grand  crisis  of  my  personal  his 
tory. 

Not  a  day  passed  away  in  which  Jenks  did  not  inquire 
for  the  health  of  "  the  mistress."  He  seemed  to  be  lost 


Arthur  Bonnicastle.  195 

without  her,  and  to  feel  even  more  anxious  for  her  health 
'.han  I  did.  "  How  is  she  now  ?  "  and  "  When  does  she 
say  she  is  coming  back  ?  "  were  always  the  inquiries, 
-ifter  he  had  brought  me  a  letter. 

One  day  I  said  to  him  :  "  I  thought  you  did  not  like 
my  Aunt.  You  were  always  wanting  to  get  away  from 
her." 

"  I  don't  say  that  I  do  like  her,"  said  Jenks,  with  a 
quizzical  expression  of  countenance,  as  if  he  were  puz 
zled  to  know  exactly  what  his  feelings  were,  "  but  the 
fact  is  she's  a  good  woman  to  get  away  from,  and  that's 
half  the  fun  of  living.  When  she's  here  I'm  always 
thinking  of  leaving  her,  and  that  takes  up  the  time  and 
sets  me  contriving,  you  know." 

"  You  can't  sail  quite  as  much  as  you  used  to,"  I  said, 
laughing. 

"  No,"  said  he,  "  I'm  getting  rather  old  for  the  sea, 
and  I  don't  know  but  thinking  of  the  salt  water  so  much 
has  given  me  the  rheumatism.  I'm  as  stiff  as  an  old 
horse.  Anyway,  I  can't  get  away  until  she  comes  back, 
if  I  want  to  ever  so  much.  I've  nothing  to  get  away 
from." 

"  Yes,  Jenks,"  I  said,  "  you  and  your  mistress  are  both 
getting  old.  In  a  few  years  you'll  both  get  away,  and 
you  will  not  return.  Do  you  ever  think  of  what  will 
come  after  ?  " 

"That's  so,"  he  responded,  "and  the  thing  that 
bothers  me  is  that  I  can't  get  away  from  the  place  I  go 
to,  whether  it's  good  or  bad.  How  a  man  is  going  to  kill 
time  without  some  sort  of  contriving  to  get  into  a  better 
place,  I  don't  know.  Do  you  think  there's  really  such 
a  place  as  heaven  ?  " 

"  Of  course  I  do." 

"No  offence,  sir,"  said  Jenks,  "  but  it  seems  to  me 
sometimes  as  if  it  was  only  a  sort  of  make-believe  place, 
that  people  dream  about  just  to  pass  away  the  time. 


196  Arthur  Bonnicastle. 

They  go  to  meeting,  and  pray  and  sing,  and  take  the 
sacrament,  and  talk  about  heaven  and  hell,  and  then 
they  come  home  and  laugh  and  carry  on  and  work  just 
the  same  as  ever.  It  makes  a  nice  way  to  pass  Sunday, 
and  it  seems  to  me  just  about  the  same  thing  as  sailing 
on  an  Atlas.  One  day  they  make  believe  very  hard, 
and  the  next  it's  all  over  with.  Everybody  must  have 
his  fun,  and  everybody  has  his  own  way  of  getting  it. 
Now,  here's  this  Miss  Lester  down  at  Mr.  Bradford's. 
She's  got  no  end  of  .1  constitution,  and  takes  it  out  in 
work.  She  goes  to  all  the  prayer-meetings,  and  knits 
piles  of  stockings  for  poor  people  ;  but,  dear  me  !  she 
has  to  do  something,  or  else  she  couldn't  live.  So  she 
tramps  out  in  all  sorts  of  weather,  and  takes  solid  com 
fort  in  getting  wet  and  muddy,  and  amuses  herself  think 
ing  she's  doing  good.  It's  just  so  with  the  stockings. 
She  must  knit  'em,  anyway,  and  so  she  plays  charity 
with  'em.  I  reckon  we're  all  a  good  deal  alike." 

"  No,  Jenks,"  I  said,  "  there's  really  and  truly  such  a 
place  as  heaven." 

"  I  s'pose  there  is,"  he  responded,  "  but  I  don't  see 
what  I  can  do  there.  I  can't  sing." 

"  And  there's  another  place." 

"  I  s'pose  there  is — that's  what  they  say,  and  I  don't 
see  what  I  am  going  to  do  there,  for  I  don't  like  the  sort 
of  people  that  live  there.  I  never  had  anything  to  do 
with  'em  here,  and  I  won't  have  anything  to  do  with 
'em  anywhere.  I've  always  kept  my  own  counsel  and 
picked  my  own  company,  which  has  been  mighty  small, 
and  I  always  expect  to." 

These  last  remarks  of  Jenks  were  a  puzzle  to  me.  I 
really  did  not  know  what  to  say,  at  first,  but  there  came 
back  to  me  the  memory  of  one  of  our  early  conversa 
tions,  and  I  said  :  "  What  if  she  were  to  go  to  one  place 
and  you  to  the  other  ?  " 

"  Well,"  he  replied,  his  thin  lips  twitching  and  quiv 


Arthur  Bonnicastle.  197 

ering,  "  I  shouldn't  be  any  worse  off  than  I  am  now. 
She  went  to  one  place  and  I  went  to  another  a  good 
while  ago  ;  but  do  you  really  think  people  know  one  an 
other  there  ?  " 

"  I  have  no  doubt  of  it,"  I  replied. 

"  Well,  I  shouldn't  care  where  I  was,  if  I  could  be 
with  her,  and  everything  was  agreeable,"  said  Jenks. 

"  So  you  still  remember  her." 

"  How  do  you  s'pose  I  could  live  if  I  didn't  ?  " 

At  this  he  excitedly  unbuttoned  the  wristband  of  his 
left  arm,  and  pulled  up  his  sleeve,  and  there,  pricked 
patiently  into  the  skin,  after  the  manner  of  sailors,  were 
the  two  names  in  rude  letters  :  "  THEOPHILUS  JENKS 
AND  JANE  WHITTLESEY." 

"  I  did  it  myself,"  said  Jenks.  "  Every  prick  of  the 
needle  hurt  me,  but  the  more  it  hurt  the  happier  I  was, 
just  to  see  the  two  names  together  where  no  man  could 
rub  'em  out  ;  and  I  think  I  could  stand  'most  anything 
else  for  the  sake  of  being  with  her." 

I  was  much  impressed  by  this  revelation  of  the  inner 
life  of  the  simple  old  man,  and  the  frankness  with  which 
he  had  given  me  his  confidence.  Laboring  from  day 
to  day,  year  after  year,  in  a  position  from  which  he  had 
no  hope  of  rising,  he  had  his  separate  life  of  the  affec 
tions  and  the  imagination,  and  in  this  he  held  all  his  sat 
isfactions,  and  won  all  his  modest  mental  and  spiritual 
growth.  At  the  close  of  our  conversation  I  took  out  my 
watch,  and,  seeing  that  it  was  time  for  the  mail,  I  sent 
him  off  to  obtain  it.  When  he  returned,  he  brought  me 
among  other  letters  one  from  Mrs.  Sanderson.  He  had 
placed  it  upon  the  top  of  the  package,  and,  when  he  had 
handed  it  to  me,  he  waited,  as  had  become  his  custom, 
to  learn  the  news  from  his  mistress. 

When  I  had  opened  the  letter  and  read  a  few  lines,  I 
exclaimed  :  "  Oh,  Jenks !  here's  some  great  news  foi 
you."  And  then  I  read  from  the  letter  : 


198  Arthur  Bonnicastle. 

"  My  physician  says  that  I  must  have  a  daily  drive  upon  tha 
beach,  but  I  really  do  not  feel  as  if  I  should  take  a  moment  of 
comfort  without  my  old  horse  and  carriage  and  my  old  driver. 
If  you  can  manage  to  get  along  for  two  or  three  weeks  with  the 
cook,  who  is  entirely  able  to  take  all  the  service  of  the  house  upon 
her  hands,  you  may  send  Jenks  to  me  with  the  horse  and  car 
riage.  The  road  is  very  heavy,  however,  and  it  is  best  for  him 
to  put  everything  on  the  Belle  of  Bradford,  and  come  with  it  him 
self.  The  Belle  touches  every  day  at  our  wharf,  and  the  horse 
will  be  ready  for  service  as  soon  as  he  lands." 

I  read  this  without  looking  at  Jenks'  face,  but  when  I 
finished  I  glanced  at  him,  expecting  to  see  him  radiant 
with  delight.  I  was  therefore  surprised  to  find  him  pale 
and  trembling  in  every  fibre  of  his  frame. 

"  That's  just  like  an  old  woman,"  said  Jenks.  "  How 
<loes  she  s'pose  a  horse  is  going  to  sea  ?  What's  he  to 
*lo  when  the  steamer  rolls  ?  " 

"  Oh,  horses  are  very  fond  of  rolling,"  I  said,  laugh 
ing.  "  All  he  will  have  to  do  will  be  to  lie  down  and 
roll  all  the  way,  without  straining  himself  for  it." 

"  And  how  does  she  s'pose  a  carriage  is  going  to  keep 
right  side  up  ?  " 

"  Well,  you  can  sit  in  it  and  hold  it  down." 

Jenks  looked  down  upon  his  thin  frame  and  slender 
legs,  and  shook  his  head.  "  If  there's  anything  that  I 
hate,"  said  he,  "  it's  a  steamboat.  I  think  it  will  scare 
the  old  horse  to  death.  They  whistle  and  toot,  and  blow 
up  and  burn  up.  Now,  don't  you  really  think — candid, 
now  — that  I'd  better  drive  the  old  horse  down  ?  Don't 
you  think  the  property'll  be  safer  ?  She  never  can  get 
another  horse  like  him.  She  never'll  get  a  carriage  that 
suits  her  half  as  well  as  that.  It  don't  seem  to  me  as  if 
I  could  take  the  responsibility  of  risking  that  property. 
She  left  it  in  my  hands.  '  Take  good  care  of  the  old 
horse,  Jenks,'  was  the  last  words  she  said  to  me  ;  and 
now,  because  she's  an  old  woman,  and  doesn't  know  any 
better,  she  tells  me  to  put  him  on  a  steamboat,  whcrv 


Arthur  Bonnicastle.  199 

he's  just  as  likely  to  be  banged  about  and  have  his  ribs 
broke  in,  or  be  burned  up  or  blowed  up.  as  he  is  to  get 
through  alive.  It  seems  to  me  the  old  woman  is  out  of 
her  head,  and  that  I  ought  to  do  just  as  she  told  me  to 
do  when  she  was  all  right.  '  Take  good  care  of  the  old 
horse,  Jenks,'  was  the  last  words  she  said." 

The  old  man  was  excited  but  still  pale,  and  he  stood 
waiting  before  me  with  a  pitiful,  pleading  expression 
upon  his  wizen  features. 

I  shook  my  head.  "  I'm  afraid  we  shall  be  obliged 
to  risk  the  property,  Jenks,"  I  said.  "  Mrs.  Sanderson 
is  very  particular,  you  know,  about  having  all  her  or 
ders  obeyed  to  the  letter.  She  will  have  no  one  to  blame 
but  herself  if  the  whole  establishment  goes  overboard, 
and  if  I  were  you  I  wouldn't  miss  this  chance  of  going  to 
sea  at  her  expense  for  anything." 

Then  Jenks  resolutely  undertook  to  bring  his  mind  to 
it.  "  How  long  will  it  take  ?  "  he  inquired. 

"  Oh,  three  hours  or  so,"  I  replied  carelessly. 

"  Do  we  go  out  of  sight  of  land  ?  " 

"  No,  you  sail  down  the  river  a  few  miles,  then  you 
strike  the  ocean,  and  just  hug  the  shore  until  you  get 
there,"  I  replied. 

"  Yes  ;  strike  the  ocean — hug  the  shore,"  he  mum 
bled  to  himself,  looking  down  and  rubbing  the  bald  spot 
on  the  top  of  his  head.  "  Strike  the  ocean— hug  the 
shore.  Three  hours — oh  !  do  you  know  whether  they 
have  life-preservers  on  that  steamboat  ?  " 

"  Stacks  of  them,"  I  replied.  "  I've  seen  them  of 
ten." 

"  Wouldn't  it  be  a  good  plan  to  slip  one  on  to  the  horse's 
neck  when  they  start  ?  He'll  think  it's  a  collar,  and 
won't  be  scared,  you  know  ;  and  if  there  should  happen 
to  be  any  trouble  it  would  help  to  keep  his  nose  up." 

"  Capital  plan,"  I  responded. 

"  What  time  do  we  start  ?  " 


2OO  Arthur  Bonnicastle. 

"  At  eight  o'clock  to-morrow  morning." 

Jenks  retired  with  the  look  and  bearing  of  a  man  \vhfl 
had  been  sentenced  to  be  hanged.  He  went  first  to  the 
stable,  and  made  all  the  necessary  arrangements  there, 
and  late  into  the  night  I  heard  him  moving  about  his 
room.  I  presume  he  did  not  once  close  his  eyes  in  sleep 
that  night.  I  was  exceedingly  amused  by  his  nervous 
ness,  though  I  would  not  have  intimated  to  him  that  I 
had  any  doubt  of  his  courage,  for  the  world.  He  was 
astir  at  an  early  hour  in  the  morning  ;  and  breakfast  was 
upon  the  table  while  yet  the  early  birds  were  singing. 

"  You  will  have  a  lovely  day,  Jenks,"  I  said,  as  he 
handed  me  my  coffee. 

As  he  bent  to  set  the  cup  beside  my  plate,  there  came 
close  to  my  ear  a  curious,  crepitant  rustle.  "  What 
have  you  got  about  you,  Jenks  ?  "  I  inquired. 

He  made  a  sickly  attempt  to  smile,  and  then  pulling 
open  the  bosom  of  his  shirt,  displayed  a  collapsed,  dry 
bladder,  with  a  goose-quill  in  the  neck  ready  for  its  in 
flation. 

"  That's  a  capital  idea,  Jenks,"  I  said. 

"  Do  you  think  so  ?  What  do  you  think  of  that  ? "  and 
he  showed  me  the  breast-pocket  of  his  coat  full  of  corks. 

It  was  impossible  for  me  to  restrain  my  laughter  any 
longer. 

"  Number  one,  you  know,"  said  Jenks,  buttoning  up 
his  coat.  "  Number  one,  and  a  stiff  upper  lip." 

"  You're  a  brave  old  fellow,  anyway,  Jenks,  and  you're 
going  to  have  the  best  time  you  ever  had.  I  envy  you." 

I  drove  down  to  the  boat  with  him,  to  make  the  ar 
rangements  for  the  shipment,  and  saw  him  and  the  es 
tablishment  safely  on  board.  The  bottom  of  the  car 
riage  was  loaded  with  appliances  for  securing  his  personal 
safety  in  case  of  an  accident,  including  a  billet  of  wood, 
which  he  assured  me  was  to  be  used  for  blocking  tho 
wheels  of  the  carriage  in  case  of  a  storm. 


Arthur  Bonnicastle.  201 

I  bade  him  good-by  at  last,  and  went  on  shore,  where 
1  waited  to  see  the  steamer  wheel  into  the  stream.  The 
last  view  I  had  of  the  old  man  showed  that  he  had  re 
lieved  himself  of  hat  and  boots,  and  placed  himself  in 
light  swimming  order.  In  the  place  of  the  former  he 
had  tied  a  red  bandanna  handkerchief  around  his  head, 
and  for  the  latter  he  had  substituted  slippers.  He  had 
entirely  forgotten  me  and  the  existence  of  such  a  town 
as  Bradford.  Looking  dreamily  down  the  river,  out 
toward  that  mysterious  sea,  on  which  his  childish  im 
agination  had  dwelt  so  long,  and  of  which  he  stood  in 
such  mortal  fear,  he  passed  out  of  sight. 

The  next  evening  I  heard  from  him  in  a  characteristic 
letter.  It  was  dated  at  "  The  Glaids,"  and  read  thus  : 

"  The  Bell  is  a  noble  vessel. 
"  The  horse  and  carridge  is  saif. 
"  She  welcomed  me  from  the  see. 
"  It  seems  to  me  I  am  in  the  moon. 
' '  Once  or  twise  she  roaled  ferefully. 
"  But  she  rited  and  drove  on. 
"  I  count  nineteen  distant  sales. 

"  If  you  will  be  so  kind  as  not  to  menshun  the  blader. 
"  The  waves  roll  in  and  rore  all  night. 

"  The  see  is  a  tremenduous  thing,  and  the  atlus  is  nowhare. 
"  From  an  old  Tarr 

"  THKOPHILUS  JENKS." 

A  few  days  afterward,  Henry  and  I  made  a  flying  trip 
to  New  Haven,  passed  our  examination  for  admission  to 
the  freshman  class,  and  in  the  weeks  that  followed  gave 
ourselves  up  to  recreations  which  a  debilitating  summer 
and  debilitating  labor  had  made  necessary. 


2O2  Arthur  Bonnicastle. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

MRS.    SANDERSON  TAKES  A   COMPANION   AND   I   GO  TO 
COLLEGE. 

DURING  the  closing  days  of  summer,  I  was  surprised 
to  meet  in  the  street,  walking  alone,  the  maid  who  ac 
companied  Mrs.  Sanderson  to  the  sea-side.  She  cour- 
tesied  quite  profoundly  to  me,  after  the  manner  of  the 
time,  and  paused  as  though  she  wished  to  speak. 

"  Well,  Jane,"  I  said,  "  how  came  you  here  ?  " 

She  colored,  and  her  eyes  flashed  angrily  as  she  re 
plied  :  "  Mrs.  Sanderson  sent  me  home." 

"  If  you  are  willing,  I  should  like  to  have  you  tell  me 
all  about  it,"  I  said. 

"  It  is  all  of  a  lady  Mrs.  Sanderson  met  at  the  hotel," 
she  responded — "a  lady  with  a  pretty  face  and  fine 
manners,  who  is  as  poor  as  I  am,  I  warrant  ye.  Mighty 
sly  and  quiet  she  was ;  and  your  aunt  took  to  her  from 
the  first  day.  They  walked  together  every  day  till  Jenks 
came,  and  then  they  rode  together,  and  she  was  always 
doing  little  things  for  your  aunt,  and  at  last  they  left  me 
out  entirely,  so  that  I  had  nothing  in  the  world  to  do  but 
to  sit  and  sew  all  day  on  just  nothing  at  all.  The  lady 
read  to  her,  too,  out  of  the  newspapers  and  the  books, 
in  a  very  nice  way,  and  made  herself  agreeable  with  her 
pretty  manners  until  it  was  nothing  but  Mrs.  Belden 
in  the  morning,  and  Mrs.  Belden  at  night,  and  Mrs. 
Belden  all  the  time,  and  I  told  your  aunt  that  I  didn't 
think  I  was  needed  any  more,  and  she  took  me  up  mighty 
short  and  said  she  didn't  think  I  was,  and  that  I  could 
go  home  if  I  wished  to  ;  and  I  wouldn't  stay  a  moment 
after  that,  but  just  packed  up  and  came  home  in  the 
next  boat." 

The  disappointed  and  angry  girl  rattled  off  her  story 


Arthur  Bonnicastle.  203 

as  if  she  had  told  it  forty  times  to  her  forty  friends,  and 
learned  it  all  by  rote. 

"  I  am  sorry,  Jane,  that  you  have  been  disappointed," 
I  responded,  "but  is  my  aunt  well  ?  " 

"  Just  as  well  as  she  ever  was  in  her  life." 

"  But  how  will  she  get  home  without  you  ?  "  I  in 
quired,  quite  willing  to  hear  her  talk  farther. 

"  She'll  manage  the  same  as  she  does  now,  faith.  You 
may  wager  your  eyes  the  lady  will  come  with  her.  You 
never  saw  the  like  of  the  thickness  there  is  between 
'em." 

"  Is  she  old  or  young  ?  "  I  inquired. 

"  Neither  the  one  nor  the  other,"  she  replied, 
"  though  I  think  she's  older  than  she  looks.  Oh,  she's 
a  sharp  one — she's  a  sharp  one  !  You'll  see  her.  There 
was  a  world  of  quiet  talk  going  on  between  'em,  when 
I  couldn't  hear.  They've  been  at  it  for  more  than  a 
month,  and  it  means  something.  I  think  she's  after  the 
old  lady's  money." 

I  laughed,  and  again  telling  Jane  that  I  was  sorry  for 
her  disappointment,  and  expressing  the  hope  that  it 
would  all  turn  out  well,  parted  with  her. 

Here  was  some  news  that  gave  me  abundant  food  for 
reflection  and  conjecture.  Not  a  breath  of  all  this  had 
come  to  me  on  the  wings  of  the  frequent  missives  that 
had  reached  me  from  Mrs.  Sanderson's  hand  ;  but  I  had 
an  unshaken  faith  in  her  discretion.  The  assurance 
that  she  was  well  was  an  assurance  that  she  was  quite 
able  to  take  care  of  herself.  It  was  natural  that  the  maid 
should  have  been  irate  and  jealous,  and  I  did  not  permit 
her  words  to  prejudice  me  against  Mrs.  Sanderson's  new 
friend.  Yet,  I  was  curious,  and  not  quite  comfortable, 
with  the  thoughts  of  her,  and  permitted  my  mind  to 
frame  and  dwell  upon  the  possible  results  of  the  new 
connection. 

It  was  a  week  after  this  meeting,  perhaps,  that  I  re' 


2O4  Arthur  Bonnicastle. 

ceived  a  note  from  Mrs.  Sanderson,  announcing  the  cork 
firmation  of  her  health,  stating  that  she  should  bring  a 
lady  with  her  on  her  return  to  Bradford,  and  giving  di 
rections  for  the  preparation  of  a  room  for  her  accommo 
dation.  It  would  not  have  been  like  my  aunt  to  make 
explanations  in  a  letter,  so  that  I  was  not  disappointed 
in  finding  none. 

At  last  I  received  a  letter  informing  me  that  the  mis 
tress  of  The  Mansion  would  return  to  her  home  on  the 
following  day.  1  was  early  at  the  wharf  to  meet  her — so 
early  that  the  steamer  had  but  just  showed  her  smoking 
chimneys  far  down  the  river.  As  the  boat  approached, 
I  detected  two  female  figures  upon  the  hurricane  deck 
which  I  was  not  long  in  concluding  to  be  my  aunt  and 
her  new  friend.  Jenks,  in  his  impatience  to  get  quickly 
on  shore,  had  loosed  his  horse  from  the  stall,  and  stood 
holding  him  by  the  bridle,  near  the  carriage,  upon  the 
forward  deck.  He  saw  me  and  swung  his  hat,  in  token 
of  his  gladness  that  the  long  trial  was  over. 

The  moment  the  boat  touched  the  wharf  I  leaped  on 
board,  mounted  to  the  deck,  and,  in  an  impulse  of  real 
gladness  and  gratitude,  embraced  my  aunt.  For  a  mo 
ment  her  companion  was  forgotten  :  then  Mrs.  Sander 
son  turned  and  presented  her.  I  did  not  wonder  that 
she  was  agreeable  to  Mrs.  Sanderson,  for  I  am  sure  that 
no  one  could  have  looked  into  her  face  and  received 
her  greeting  without  being  pleased  with  her.  She  was 
dressed  plainly,  but  with  great  neatness  ;  and  everything 
in  her  look  and  manner  revealed  the  well-bred  woman. 
The  whole  expression  of  her  personality  was  one  of  re 
finement.  She  looked  at  me  with  a  pleased  and  inquiring 
gaze  which  quite  charmed  me — a  gaze  that  by  some  sub 
tle  influence  inspired  me  to  special  courtesy  toward  her. 
When  the  carriage  had  been  placed  on  shore,  and  had 
been  made  ready  for  the  ride  homeward,  I  found  myself 
under  the  impulse  to  be  as  polite  to  her  as  to  my  aunt. 


Arthur  Bonnicastle.  205 

As  I  looked  out  among  the  loungers  who  always  at 
tended  the  arrival  of  the  Belle,  as  a  resort  of  idle  amuse 
ment,  1  caught  a  glimpse  of  Henry.  Our  eyes  met  for 
an  instant,  and  I  detected  a  look  of  eager  interest  upon 
his  face.  My  recognition  seemed  to  quench  the  look  at 
once,  and  he  turned  abruptly  on  his  heel  and  walked 
away.  It  was  not  like  him  to  be  among  a  company  of 
idlers,  and  I  knew  that  the  arrival  of  Mrs.  Sanderson 
could  not  have  attracted  him.  It  was  an  incident,  how 
ever,  of  no  significance  save  as  it  was  interpreted  by  sub 
sequent  events  which  wait  for  record. 

Mrs.  Sanderson  was  quite  talkative  on  the  way  home, 
in  pointing  out  to  her  new  companion  the  objects  of  in 
terest  presented  by  the  thriving  little  city,  and  when  she 
entered  her  house  seemed  like  her  former  self.  She  was 
like  the  captain  of  a  ship  who  had  returned  from  a  short 
stay  on  shore,  having  left  the  mate  in  charge.  All  com 
mand  and  direction  returned  to  her  on  the  instant  she 
placed  her  foot  upon  the  threshold.  She  was  in  excellent 
spirits,  and  seemed  to  look  forward  upon  life  more  hope 
fully  than  she  had  done  for  a  long  time  previous.  Mrs. 
Belden  was  pleased  with  the  house,  delighted  with  her 
room,  and  charmed  with  all  the  surroundings  of  the 
place  ;  and  I  could  see  that  Mrs.  Sanderson  was  more 
than  satisfied  with  the  impression  which  her  new  friend 
had  made  upon  me.  I  remember  with  how  much  inter 
est  I  took  her  from  window  to  window  to  show  her  the 
views  which  the  house  commanded,  and  how  much  she 
gratified  me  by  her  hearty  appreciation  of  my  courtesy 
and  of  the  home  to  which  circumstances  had  brought 
her. 

I  saw  at  once  that  she  was  a  woman  to  whom  I  could 
yield  my  confidence,  and  who  was  wholly  capable  of 
understanding  me  and  of  giving  me  counsel.  I  saw,  too, 
that  the  old  home  would  become  a  very  different  place 
to  me  from  what  it  ever  had  been  before,  with  her  gra' 


2o6  Arthur  Bonnicastle. 

cious  womanliness  within  it.  It  was  love  with  me  at  first 
sight,  as  it  had  been  with  my  more  critical  aunt. 

The  next  morning  Mrs.  Sanderson  called  me  into  her 
little  library  and  told  me  the  whole  story  of  her  new  ac 
quaintance.  She  had  been  attracted  to  her  by  some 
heartily  rendered  courtesy  when  she  found  herself  among 
strangers,  feeble  and  alone,  and  had  learned  from  her 
that  she  was  without  relatives  and  a  home  of  her  own. 
They  had  long  conversations,  and  were  led,  step  by  step, 
to  a  mutual  revelation  of  personal  wishes  and  needs, 
until  it  was  understood  between  them  that  one  was  in 
want  of  a  companion  in  her  old  age,  and  the  other  was 
in  want  of  a  home,  for  which  she  was  willing  to  give  ser 
vice  and  society. 

"  I  have  come,"  said  my  aunt,  "  to  realize  that  I  am 
old,  and  that  it  is  not  right  for  me  to  stay  in  the  house 
alone  as  I  have  done  ;  and  now  that  you  are  to  be  ab 
sent  for  so  long  a  time,  I  shall  need  society  and  help.  I 
am  sure  that  Mrs.  Belden  is  the  right  woman  for  me. 
Although  she  will  be  in  a  certain  sense  a  dependent,  she 
deserves  and  will  occupy  the  place  of  a  friend.  I  do  not 
think  I  can  be  mistaken  in  her,  and  I  believe  that  you 
will  like  her  as  well  as  I  do." 

I  frankly  told  my  aunt  of  the  pleasant  impression  the 
lady  had  made  upon  me,  and  expressed  my  entire  satis 
faction  with  the  arrangement ;  so  Mrs.  Belden  became, 
in  a  day,  a  member  of  our  home,  and,  by  the  ready 
adaptiveness  of  her  nature,  fitted  into  her  new  place  and 
relations  without  a  jar. 

On  the  same  day  in  which  Mrs.  Sanderson  and  I 
held  our  conversation,  I  found  myself  alone  with  Mrs. 
Belden,  who  led  me  to  talk  of  myself,  my  plans,  and 
my  associates.  I  told  her  the  history  of  my  stay  at 
The  Bird's  Nest,  and  talked  at  length  of  my  com 
panion  there.  She  listened  to  all  I  had  to  say  with 
interest,  and  questioned  me  particularly  about  Henry 


Arthur  Bonnicastle.  207 

She  thought  a  young  man's  intimate  companions  had 
much  to  do  with  his  safety  and  progress,  and  was  glad 
to  learn  that  my  most  intimate  friend  was  all  that  he 
ought  to  be. 

"  You  must  never  mention  him  to  Mrs.  Sanderson," 
I  said,  "  for  he  offended  her  by  not  accepting  her  in 
vitation  to  spend  his  vacations  with  me." 

"  I  shall  never  do  it,  Arthur,"  she  responded.  "  You 
can  always  rely  upon  my  discretion." 

"  We  are  to  be  chums  at  college,"  I  said. 

"  How  will  you  manage  it  without  offending  your 
aunt  ?  "  she  inquired. 

"  Oh,  she  knows  that  I  like  him  ;  so  we  agree  not  to 
mention  his  name.  She  asks  me  no  questions,  and  I 
say  nothing.  Besides,  I  think  she  knows  something  else, 
and "  I  hesitated. 

"And  what?"  inquired  Mrs.  Belden,  smiling. 

"  I  think  she  knows  that  he  is  fond  of  my  sister 
Claire,"  I  said. 

Mrs.  Belden  gave  a  visible  start,  but  checking  herself, 
said,  coolly  enough,  "  Well,  is  he  ?  " 

"  I  think  so,"  I  answered.  "  Indeed,  I  think  they  are 
very  fond  of  one  another." 

Then,  at  the  lady's  request,  I  told  her  all  about  my 
sister — her  beauty,  her  importance  in  my  father's  house, 
and  her  accomplishments.  She  listened  with  great  in 
terest,  and  said  that  she  hoped  she  should  make  her  ac 
quaintance. 

"  If  you  are  to  be  tied  to  my  aunt  in  the  society  you 
meet  here  you  will  be  pretty  sure  not  to  know  her,"  I 
responded.  "  My  father  is  Mrs.  Sanderson's  tenant, 
and  she  has  very  strict  notions  in  regard  to  poor  people, 
and  especially  in  regard  to  those  who'occupy  her  houses. 
She  has  never  invited  a  member  of  my  family  into  her 
house,  and  she  never  will.  She  has  been  very  kind  te 
me,  but  she  has  her  own  way  about  it." 


Arthur  Bonnicastlc. 

"  Yes,  I  see  ;  but  I  shall  meet  your  sister  in  soma 
way,  I  know,  if  I  remain  here,"  Mrs.  Belden  replied. 

1  had  never  seen  Jenks  so  happy  as  he  appeared  the 
next  day  after  his  arrival.  He  had  been  elevated  im 
mensely  by  his  voyage  and  adventures,  and  had  been 
benefited  by  the  change  quite  as  much  as  his  mistress. 
He  went  about  humming  and  growling  to  himself  in  the 
old  way,  seeking  opportunities  to  pour  into  my  amused 
ears  the  perils  he  had  encountered  and  escaped.  There 
had  been  a  terrific  "lurch"  on  one  occasion,  when 
everybody  staggered  ;  and  a  suspicious  sail  once  "  hove 
in  sight "  which  turned  out  to  be  a  schooner  loaded  with 
lumber  ;  and  there  were  white  caps  tossing  on  a  reer* 
which  the  captain  skilfully  avoided  ;  and  there  was  a 
"  tremenduous  ground  swell"  during  a  portion  of  the 
homeward  passage  which  he  delighted  to  dwell  upon. 

But  Jenks  was  in  no  way  content  until  I  had  pointed 
out  his  passage  to  him  on  the  map.  When  he  compre 
hended  the  humiliating  fact  that  he  had  sailed  only  half 
an  inch  on  the  largest  map  of  the  region  he  possessed, 
and  that  on  the  map  of  the  world  the  river  by  which  he 
passed  to  the  sea  was  not  large  enough  to  be  noticed, 
he  shook  his  head. 

"  It's  no  use,"  said  the  old  man.  "  I  thought  I  could 
do  it,  but  I  can't.  The  world  is  a  big  thing.  Don't  you 
think,  yourself,  it  would  be  more  convenient  if  it  were 
smaller?  I  can't  see  the  use  of  such  an  everlasting  lot 
of  water.  A  half  an  inch  !  My!  think  of  sailing  a  foot 
and  a  half!  I  give  it  up." 

"  But  you  really  have  been  far,  far  away  upon  the  bil- 
low,"  I  said  encouragingly. 

"  Yes,  that's  so — that's  so— that  is  so,"  he  responded, 
nodding  his  head  emphatically:  "and  I've  ploughed 
the  waves,  and  struck  the  sea,  and  hugged  the  shore, 
and  embarked  and  prepared  for  a  storm,  and  seen  the 
white  caps,  and  felt  a  ground  swell,  and  get  through 


Arthur  Bonnicastie.  209 

alive,  and  all  that  kind  of  thing.  I  tell  you,  that  day 
when  we  swung  into  the  stream  I  didn't  know  whether  I 
was  on  my  head  or  my  heels.  I  kept  saying  to  myself : 
'  Theophilus  Jenks,  is  this  you  ?  Who's  your  father  and 
who's  your  mother  and  who's  your  Uncle  David  ?  Do 
you  know  what  you're  up  to  ? '  I'll  bet  you  can't  tell 
what  else  I  said  ? " 

"  No,  I'll  not  try,  but  you'll  tell  me,"  I  responded. 

"  Well,  'twas  a  curious  thing  to  say,  and  I  don't  know 
but  it  was  wicked  to  talk  out  of  the  Bible,  but  it  came  to 
me  and  came  out  of  me  before  I  knew  it." 

"  What  was  it,  Jenks?     I'm  curious  to  know." 

"  Says  I  :  '  Great  is  Diany  of  the  'Phesians  ! ' " 

I  laughed  heartily,  and  told  Jenks  that  in  my  opinion 
he  couldn't  have  done  better. 

"That  wasn't  all,"  said  Jenks.  "  I  said  it  more  than 
forty  times.  A  fellow  must  say  something  when  he  gets 
full,  and  if  he  doesn't  swear,  what  is  he  going  to  do,  I 
should  like  to  know  ?  So  always  when  I  found  myself 
running  over,  I  said  '  Great  is  Diany  of  the  'Phesians,' 
and  that's  the  way  I  spirt  myself  all  the  way  down." 

It  was  a  great  comfort  to  me,  on  the  eve  of  my  depart 
ure,  to  feel  that  the  two  lives  which  had  been  identified 
with  my  new  home,  and  had  made  it  what  it  had  been 
to  me,  were  likely  to  be  spared  for  some  years  longer — 
spared,  indeed,  until  I  should  return  to  take  up  my  per 
manent  residence  at  The  Mansion.  Mrs.  Belden's  pres 
ence,  too,  was  reassuring.  It  helped  to  give  a  look  of 
permanence  to  a  home  which  seemed  more  and  more,  as 
the  years  went  by,  to  be  built  of  very  few  and  frail  ma 
terials.  I  learned  almost  at  once  to  identify  her  with 
my  future,  and  to  associate  her  with  all  my  plans  for 
coming  life.  If  my  aunt  should  die,  I  determined  that 
Mrs.  Belden  should  remain. 

There  was  one  fact  which  gave  me  surprise  and  annoy 
ance,  viz.,  that  both  my  father  and  Mr.  Bradford  re 


2IO  Arthur  Bonnicastle. 

garded  the  four  years  that  lay  immediately  before  me  as 
the  critical  years  of  my  history.  Whenever  I  met  them, 
I  found  that  my  future  was  much  upon  their  minds,  and 
that  my  experiences  of  the  previous  winter  were  not  re 
lied  upon  by  either  of  them  as  sufficient  guards  against 
the  temptations  to  which  I  was  about  to  be  subjected. 
They  knew  that  for  many  reasons,  growing  out  of  the 
softening  influence  of  age  and  of  apprehended  helpless 
ness  on  the  part  of  Mrs.  Sanderson,  she  had  become 
very  indulgent  toward  me,  and  had  ceased  to  scan  with 
her  old  closeness  my  expenditures  of  money — that,  in 
deed,  she  had  a  growing  pride  in  me  and  fondness  for 
me  which  prompted  her  to  give  me  all  the  money  that 
might  be  desirable  in  sustaining  me  in  the  position  of  a 
rich  young  gentleman.  Even  Mr.  Bird  came  all  the 
way  from  Hillsborough  to  see  his  boys,  as  he  called 
Henry  and  myself.  He,  too,  was  anxious  about  me, 
and  did  not  leave  me  until  he  had  pointed  out  the  mis 
takes  I  should  be  likely  to  make  and  exhorted  me  to 
prove  myself  a  man,  and  to  remember  what  he  and  dear 
Mrs.  Bird  expected  of  me. 

These  things  surprised  and  annoyed  me,  because  they 
indicated  a  solicitude  which  must  have  been  based  upon 
suspicions  of  my  weakness,  yet  these  three  men  were  all 
wise.  What  could  it  mean  ?  I  learned  afterward.  They 
had  seen  enough  of  life  to  know  that  when  a  young  man 
meets  the  world,  temptation  comes  to  him,  and  always 
seeks  and  finds  the  point  in  his  character  at  which  it 
may  enter.  They  did  not  know  where  that  point  was  in 
me,  but  they  knew  it  was  somewhere,  and  that  my 
ready  sympathy  would  be  my  betrayer,  unless  I  should 
be  on  my  guard. 

I  spent  an  evening  with  Henry  in  my  father's  family, 
and  recognized,  in  the  affectionate  paternal  eye  that  fol 
lowed  me  everywhere,  the  old  love  which  knew  no  dim 
inution.  I  believe  there  was  no  great  and  good  deed 


Arthur  Bonnicastle.    .  211 

n-hich  my  fond  father  did  not  deem  me  capable  of  per 
forming,  and  that  he  had  hung  the  sweetest  and  highest 
hopes  of  his  life  upon  me.  He  was  still  working  from 
day  to  day  to  feed,  shelter  and  clothe  his  dependent 
flock,  but  he  looked  for  his  rewards  not  to  them,  but  to 
me.  The  noble  life  which  had  been  possible  to  him, 
under  more  favorable  circumstances,  he  expected  to  live 
in  me.  For  this  he  had  sacrificed  my  society,  and  suf 
fered  the  pain  of  witnessing  the  transfer  of  my  affections 
and  interests  to  another  home. 

On  the  day  before  that  fixed  for  my  departure,  a  note 
was  received  at  The  Mansion  inviting  us  all  to  spend 
the  evening  at  Mrs.  Bradford's.  The  good  lady  in  her 
note  of  invitation  stated  that  she  should  be  most  happy 
to  see  Mrs.  Sanderson,  and  though  she  hardly  expected 
her  to  break  her  rule  of  not  leaving  her  house  in  the 
evening,  she  hoped  that  her  new  companion,  Mrs.  Bel- 
den,  would  bear  me  company,  and  so  make  the  acquaint 
ance  of  her  neighbors.  My  aunt  read  the  note  to  Mrs. 
Belclen,  and  said  :  "  Of  course  I  shall  not  go,  and  you 
will  act  your  own  pleasure  in  the  matter."  Hoping  that 
the  occasion  would  give  me  an  opportunity  to  present 
my  friend  and  my  sister  to  Mrs.  Belden,  I  urged  her  to 
go  with  me,  and  she  at  last  consented  to  do  so. 

I  had  strongly  desired  to  see  my  friend  Millie  once 
more,  and  was  delighted  with  the  opportunity  thus  of 
fered.  The  day  was  one  of  busy  preparation,  and  Mrs. 
Belden  was  dressed  and  ready  to  go  when  I  came  down 
from  my  toilet.  As  we  walked  down  the  hill  together 
toward  Mr.  Bradford's  house,  she  said  :  "  Arthur,  I 
have  been  into  society  so  little  during  the  last  few  years 
that  I  feel  very  uneasy  over  this  affair.  Indeed,  every, 
nerve  in  my  body  is  trembling  now."  I  laughed,  and 
told  her  she  was  going  among  people  who  would  make 
her  at  home  at  once — people  whom  she  would  soon 
learn  to  love  and  confide  in. 


212  Arthur  Bonnicastle. 

I  expected  to  see  Henry  and  Claire,  and  I  was  not 
disappointed.  After  greeting  my  hearty  host  and  lovely 
hostess,  and  presenting  Mrs.  Belden,  I  turned  to  Henry, 
who,  with  a  strange  pallor  upon  his  face,  grasped  and 
fairly  ground  my  hand  within  his  own.  He  made  the 
most  distant  of  bows  to  the  strange  lady  at  my  side,  who 
looked  as  ghost-like  at  the  instant  as  himself.  The 
thought  instantaneously  crossed  my  mind  that  he  had 
associated  her  with  Mrs.  Sanderson,  against  whom  I 
knew  he  entertained  the  most  bitter  dislike.  He  cer 
tainly  could  not  have  appeared  more  displeased  had 
he  been  compelled  to  a  moment's  courtesy  toward  the 
old  lady  herself.  When  Mrs.  Belden  and  Claire  met,  it 
was  a  different  matter  altogether.  There  was  a  mutual 
and  immediate  recognition  of  sympathy  between  them. 
Mrs.  Belden  held  Claire's  hand,  and  stood  and  chat 
ted  with  her  until  her  self-possession  returned.  Henry 
watched  the  pair  with  an  absorbed  and  anxious  look,  as 
if  he  expected  his  beloved  was  in  some  way  to  be  poi 
soned  by  the  breath  of  her  new  acquaintance. 

At  last,  in  the  general  mingling  of  voices  in  conver 
sation  and  laughter,  both  Mrs.  Belden  and  Henry  re 
gained  their  usual  manner  ;  and  the  fusion  of  the  social 
elements  present  became  complete.  As  the  little  re 
union  was  given  to  Henry  and  myself,  in  token  of  in 
terest  in  our  departure,  that  departure  was  the  topic  of 
the  evening  upon  every  tongue.  We  talked  about  it 
while  at  our  tea,  and  there  were  many  sportive  specula 
tions  upon  the  possible  transformations  in  character  and 
bearing  which  the  next  four  years  would  effect  in  us.  As 
we  came  out  of  the  tea-room  I  saw  that  Mrs.  Belden  and 
Claire  still  clung  to  each  other.  After  a  while  Henry 
joined  them,  and  I  could  see,  as  both  looked  up  into 
his  face  with  amused  interest,  that  he  was  making 
rapid  amends  for  the  coolness  with  which  he  had  greeted 
the  stranger.  Then  Mr.  Bradford  went  and  took  Claire 


Arthur  Bonnicastle.  213 

away,  and  Mrs.  Belden  and  Henry  sat  down  by  them 
selves  and  had  a  long  talk  together.  All  this  pleased 
me,  and  I  did  nothing  to  interfere  with  their  tete-a-tete  ; 
and  all  this  I  saw  from  the  corner  to  which  Millie  and  I 
had  retired  to  have  our  farewell  talk. 

"  What  do  you  expect  to  make  ?  "  said  Millie,  curi 
ously,  continuing  the  drift  of  the  previous  conver 
sation. 

"  I  told  Mrs.  Sanderson,  when  I  was  a  little  fellow, 
that  I  expected  to  make  a  man,"  I  answered  ;  "  and 
now  please  tell  me  what  you  expect  to  make." 

"  A  woman,  I  suppose, "she  replied,  with  a  little  sigh. 

"  You  speak  as  if  you  were  sad  about  it,"  I  responded. 

"  I  am."  And  she  looked  off  as  if  reflecting  upon  the 
bitter  prospect. 

"Why?" 

"  Oh,  men  and  women  are  so  different  from  children," 
she  said.  "  One  of  these  years  you'll  come  back  with 
grand  airs,  and  whiskers  on  your  face,  and  you  will  find 
me  grown  up,  with  a  long  dress  on ;  and  I'm  afraid  I 
shan't  like  you  as  well  as  I  do  now,  and  that  you  will 
like  somebody  a  great  deal  better  than  you  do  me." 

"  Perhaps  we  shall  like  one  another  a  great  deal  bet 
ter  than  we  do  now,"  I  said. 

"  It's  only  a  perhaps,"  she  responded.  "  No,  we  shall 
be  new  people  then.  Just  think  of  my  father  being  a 
little  boy  once  !  I  presume  I  shouldn't  have  liked  him 
half  as  well  as  I  do  you.  As  likely  as  any  way  he  was 
a  plague  and  a  pester." 

"  But  we  are  growing  into  new  people  all  the  time,"  I 
said.  "  Your  father  was  a  young  man  when  he  was  mar 
ried,  and  now  he  is  another  man,  but  your  mother  is  just 
as  fond  of  him  as  she  ever  was,  isn't  she  ? " 

"  Why,  yes,  that's  a  fact ;  I  guess  she  is  indeed ! 
She  just  adores  him,  out  and  out." 

"  Well,  then,  what's  to  hinder  other  people  from  lik- 


214  Arthur  Bonnicastle. 

ing  one  another  right  along,  even  if  they  are  changing  all 
the  time  ? " 

"  Nothing,"  she  replied  quickly.  "  I  see  it  :  I  un 
derstand.  There's  something  that  doesn't  change,  isn't 
there  ?  or  something  that  needn't  change  :  which  is  it  ?  " 

"  Whatever  it  is,  Millie,"  I  answered,  "  we  will  not 
let  it  change.  We'll  make  up  our  minds  about  it  right 
here.  When  I  come  back  to  stay,  I  will  be  Arthur  Bon 
nicastle  and  you  shall  be  Millie  Bradford,  just  the  same 
as  now,  and  we'll  sit  and  talk  in  this  corner  just  as  we  do 
now,  and  there  shall  be  no  Mister  and  Miss  between  us." 

Millie  made  no  immediate  response,  but  looked  off 
again  in  her  wise  way,  as  if  searching  for  something  that 
eluded  and  puzzled  her.  I  watched  her  admiringly  while 
she  paused.  At  last  a  sudden  flash  came  into  her  eyes, 
and  she  turned  to  me  and  said  :  "  Oh,  Arthur  !  I've 
found  it  !  As  true  as  you  live,  I've  found  it !  " 

"  Found  what,  Millie  ?  " 

"  The  thing  that  doesn't  change,  or  needn't  change," 
she  replied. 

"Well,  what  is  it?" 

"  Why,  it's  everything.  When  I  used  to  dress  up  my 
little  doll  and  make  a  grand  lady  of  her,  there  was  the 
same  doll,  inside,  after  all !  Don't  you  see  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  see." 

"  And  you  know  how  they  are  building  a  great  church 
right  over  the  little  one  down  on  the  corner,  without 
moving  a  single  stone  of  the  chapel.  The  people  go  to 
the  big  church  every  Sunday,  but  all  the  preaching  and 
singing  are  in  the  chapel.  Don't  you  see  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  see,  Millie,"  I  answered  ;  "  but  I  don't  think 
I  should  see  it  without  your  eyes  to  help  me.  I  am  to 
build  a  man  and  you  are  to  build  a  woman  right  over 
the  boy  and  girl,  without  touching  the  boy  and  girl  at 
all ;  and  so,  when  we  come  together  again,  we  can  walk 
right  into  the  little  chapel,  and  find  ourselves  at  home/' 


Artliur  Bonnicastle.  215 

"  Isn't  that  lovely?  "  exclaimed  Millie.  "  I  can  see 
things,  and  you  can  make  things.  I  couldn't  have  said 
that — about  our  going  into  the  little  chapel,  you  know." 

"  And  I  couldn't  have  said  it  if  you  hadn't  found  the 
chapel  for  me,"  I  responded. 

"  Why,  doesn't  it  seem  as  if  we  belonged  together, 
and  had  been  separated  in  some  way  ?  " 

At  tliis  moment  Mr.  Bradford  rose  and  came  near  us 
to  get  a  book.  He  smiled  pleasantly  upon  us  while  we 
looked  up  to  him,  pausing  in  our  conversation.  When 
he  had  gone  back  and  resumed  his  seat,  Millie  said  : 

"  There's  a  big  church  over  two  chapels.  He  has  a 
young  man  in  him  and  a  boy  besides.  The  boy  plays 
with  me  and  understands  me,  and  the  young  man  is  dead 
in  love  with  mamma,  and  the  old  man  takes  care  of  us 
both,  and  does  everything.  Isn't  it  splendid!  " 

Ah,  Millie  !  I  have  heard  many  wise  men  and  wise 
women  talk  philosophy,  but  never  one  so  wise  as  you  ; 
and  I  have  never  seen  a  young  man  whose  growth  had 
choked  and  destroyed  his  childhood,  or  an  old  man 
whose  youth  had  died  out  of  him,  without  thinking  of 
our  conversation  that  night.  The  dolls  are  smothered 
in  their  clothes,  and  the  little  chapels  are  fated  to  fall 
when  the  grand  cathedral  walls  are  finished.  The  one 
thing  that  need  not  change,  the  one  thing  that  should 
not  change,  the  one  thing  which  has  the  power  to  pre 
serve  the  sweetness  of  all  youthful  relations  up  to  the 
change  of  death,  and,  doubtless,  beyond  it,  is  childhood 
— the  innocent,  playful,  trusting,  loyal,  loving,  hopeful 
childhood  of  the  soul,  with  all  its  illusions  and  romances 
and  enjoyment  of  pure  and  simple  delights. 

Millie  and  I  talked  of  many  things  that  evening,  and 
participated  very  little  in  the  general  conversation  which 
went  on  at  the  other  end  of  the  drawing-room.  I 


216  ArtJiur  Bonnicastle. 

learned  from  her  of  the  plans  already  made  for  sending 
her  away  to  school,  and  realized  with  a  degree  of  pain 
which  I  found  difficult  to  explain  to  myself,  that  years 
were  to  pass  before  we  should  meet  for  such  an  hour  of 
unrestrained  conversation  again. 

Before  I  bade  the  family  farewell,  Aunt  Flick  pre 
sented  to  both  Henry  and  myself  a  little  box  containing 
pins,  needles,  buttons,  thread,  and  all  the  appliances 
for  making  timely  repairs  upon  our  clothing,  in  the  ab 
sence  of  feminine  friends.  Each  box  was  a  perfect 
treasure-house  of  convenience,  and  had  cost  Aunt  Flick 
the  labor  of  many  hours. 

"  Henry  will  use  this  box,"  said  the  donor,  "  but  you" 
(addressing  me)  "  will  not." 

"  I  pledge  you  my  honor,  Aunt  Flick,"  I  responded, 
"  that  I  will  use  and  lose  every  pin  in  the  box,  and  lend 
all  the  needles  and  thread,  and  leave  the  cushions  where 
they  will  be  stolen,  and  make  your  gift  just  as  universally 
useful  as  I  can." 

This  saucy  speech  set  Millie  into  so  hearty  a  laugh 
that  the  whole  company  laughed  in  sympathy,  and  even 
Aunt  Flick's  face  relaxed  as  she  remarked  that  she  be 
lieved  every  word  I  had  said. 

It  was  delightful  tome  to  see  that  "while  I  had  been 
engaged  with  Millie,  Mrs.  Belden  had  quietly  made  her 
way  with  the  family,  and  that  Henry,  who  had  met  her 
coldly  and  almost  rudely,  had  become  so  much  inter 
ested  in  her  that  when  the  time  of  parting  came  he  was 
particularly  warm  and  courteous  toward  her. 

The  farewells  and  kind  wishes  were  all  said  at  last, 
and  with  Mrs.  Belden  upon  my  arm  I  turned  my  steps 
toward  The  Mansion.  The  lady  thought  the  Bradfords 
were  delightful  people,  that  Henry  seemed  to  be  a  young 
man  of  a  good  deal  of  intelligence  and  character,  and 
that  my  sister  Claire  was  lovely.  The  opening  chapter 
of  her  life  in  Bradford,  she  said,  was  the  most  charming 


Arthur  Bonnicastle,  217 

reading  that  she  had  found  in  any  book  for  many  years  ; 
and  if  the  story  should  go  on  as  it  had  begun  she  should 
be  more  than  satisfied. 

I  need  not  dwell  upon  my  departure  further.  In  the 
early  morning  of  the  next  day,  Henry  and  I  were  on 
our  way,  with  the  sweet  memory  of  tearful  eyes  in  our 
hearts,  and  with  the  consciousness  that  good  wishes  and 
prayers  were  following  us  as  white  birds  follow  depart 
ing  ships  far  out  to  sea,  and  with  hopes  that  beckoned 
us  on  in  every  crested  wave  that  leaped  before  us  and 
in  every  cloud  that  flew. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

THE    BEGINNING    OF    COLLEGE    LIFE — I     MEET    PETER 
MULLENS,   GORDON   LIVINGSTON,   AND  TEMPTATION. 

THE  story  of  my  college  life  occupies  so  large  a  space 
in  my  memory,  that  in  the  attempt  to  write  it  within 
practicable  limits  I  find  myself  obliged  to  denude  it  of  a 
thousand  interesting  details,  and  to  cling  in  my  record 
to  those  persons  and  incidents  which  were  most  directly 
concerned  in  shaping  my  character,  my  course  of  life, 
and  my  destiny. 

I  entered  upon  this  life  panoplied  with  good  resolu 
tions  and  worthy  ambitions.  I  was  determined  to  honor 
the  expectations  of  those  who  had  trusted  me,  and  to 
disappoint  the  fears  of  those  who  had  not.  Especially 
was  I  determined  to  regain  a  measure  of  the  religious 
zeal  and  spiritual  peace  and  satisfaction  which  I  had  lost 
during  the  closing  months  of  my  stay  in  Bradford. 
Henry  and  I  talked  the  matter  all  over,  and  laid  our 
plans  together.  We  agreed  to  stand  by  one  another  it 


218  Arthur  Bonnicastle. 

all  emergencies — in  sickness,  in  trouble,  in  danger — and 
to  be  faithful  critics  and  Mentors  of  each  other. 

Both  of  us  won  at  once  honorable  positions  in  our 
class,  and  the  good  opinion  of  our  teachers,  for  we  were 
thoroughly  in  earnest  and  scrupulously  industrious. 
Though  a  good  deal  of  society  forced  itself  upon  us,  we 
were  sufficient  for  each  other,  and  sought  but  little  to 
extend  the  field  of  companionship. 

We  went  at  once  into  the  weekly  prayer-meeting  held 
by  the  religious  students,  thinking  that,  whatever  other 
effect  it  might  have  upon  us,  it  would  so  thoroughly  de 
clare  our  position  that  all  that  was  gross  in  the  way  of 
temptation  would  shun  us.  Taking  our  religious  stand 
early,  we  felt,  too,  that  we  should  have  a  better  outlook 
upon,  and  a  sounder  and  safer  estimate  of,  all  those  di 
versions  and  dissipations  which  never  fail  to  come  with 
subtle  and  specious  temptation  to  large  bodies  of  young 
men  deprived  of  the  influences  of  home. 

The  effect  that  we  aimed  at  was  secured.  We  were 
classed  at  once  among  those  to  whom  we  belonged  ;  but, 
to  me,  I  cannot  say  that  the  classification  was  entirely 
satisfactory.  I  did  not  find  the  brightest  and  most  de 
sirable  companions  among  those  who  attended  the 
prayer-meetings.  They  were  shockingly  commonplace 
fellows,  the  most  of  them— particularly  those  most  for 
ward  in  engaging  in  the  exercises.  There  were  a  few 
shy-looking,  attractive  young  men,  who  said  but  little, 
took  always  the  back  seats,  and  conveyed  to  me  the  im 
pression  that  they  had  come  in  as  a  matter  of  duty,  to 
give  their  countenance  to  the  gatherings,  but  without  a 
disposition  to  engage  actively  in  the  discussions  and 
prayers.  At  first  their  position  seemed  cowardly  to  me, 
but  it  was  only  a  few  weeks  before  Henry  and  I  belonged 
to  their  number.  The  meetings  seemed  to  be  in  the 
possession  of  a  set  of  young  men  who  were  preparing 
themselves  for  the  Christian  ministry,  and  who  looked 


Arthur  Bonnicastle.  219 

upon  the  college  prayer-meeting  as  a  sort  of  gymnasium, 
where  they  were  to  exercise  and  develop  their  gifts. 
Accordingly,  we  were  treated  every  week  to  a  sort  of 
dress-parade  of  mediocrity.  Two  or  three  long-winded 
fellows,  who  seemed  to  take  the  greatest  delight  in  pub 
lic  speech,  assumed  the  leadership,  and  I  may  frankly 
say  that  they  possessed  no  power  to  do  me  good.  It  is 
possible  that  the  rest  of  us  ought  to  have  frowned  upon 
their  presumption,  and  insisted  on  a  more  democratic 
division  of  duty  and  privilege  ;  but,  in  truth,  there  was 
something  about  them  with  which  we  did  not  wish  to 
come  into  contact.  So  we  contented  ourselves  with  giv 
ing  the  honor  to  them,  and  cherishing  the  hope  that  what 
they  did  would  bring  good  to  somebody. 

Henry  and  I  talked  about  the  matter  in  our  walks  and 
times  of  leisure,  and  the  result  was  to  disgust  us  with  the 
semi-professional  wordiness  of  the  meetings,  as  well  as 
with  the  little  body  of  windy  talkers  who  made  those 
meetings  so  fruitless  and  unattractive  to  us.  We  found 
ourselves  driven  in  at  length  upon  our  own  resources, 
and  became  content  with  our  daily  prayer  together. 
This  was  our  old  habit  at  The  Bird's  Nest,  and  to  me, 
for  many  months,  it  was  a  tower  of  strength. 

Toward  the  close  of  our  first  term  an  incident  occurred 
which  set  me  still  more  strongly  against  the  set  of  young 
men  to  whom  I  have  made  allusion.  There  was  one  of 
them  who  had  been  more  offensive  than  all  the  rest. 
His  name  was  Peter  Mullens.  He  was  an  unwholesome- 
looking  fellow,  who  wore  clothes  that  never  seemed  as 
if  they  were  made  for  him,  and  whose  false  shirt-bosom 
neither  fitted  him  nor  appeared  clean.  There  was  a 
rumpled,  shabby  look  about  his  whole  person.  His 
small,  cunning  eyes  were  covered  by  a  pair  of  glasses 
which  I  am  sure  he  wore  for  ornament,  while  his  hair  was 
combed  back  straight  over  his  head,  to  show  all  the  fore 
head  he  possessed,  though  it  was  not  at  all  imposing  in  its 


220  Arthur  Bonnicastle, 

height  and  breadth.    I  had  made  no  inquiries  into  his  his- 
tory,  for  he  was  uninteresting  to  me  in  the  last  degree. 

One  evening,  just  before  bedtime,  he  knocked  at  our 
door  and  entered.  He  had  never  done  this  before,  and 
as  he  seemed  to  be  in  unusually  good  spirits,  and  to 
come  in  with  an  air  of  good-fellowship  and  familiarity, 
both  Henry  and  myself  regarded  his  call  with  a  sort  of 
questioning  surprise.  After  the  utterance  of  a  few  com 
monplace  remarks  about  the  weather,  and  the  very  in 
teresting  meetings  they  were  having,  he  explained  that 
he  had  called  to  inquire  why  it  was  that  we  had  forsaken 
the  prayer-meetings. 

Henry  told  him  at  once,  and  frankly,  that  it  was  be 
cause  he  was  not  interested  in  them,  and  because  he  felt 
that  he  could  spend  his  time  better. 

Still  more  frankly,  and  with  less  discretion,  I  told  him 
that  the  meetings  seemed  to  be  in  the  hands  of  a  set  of 
muffs,  who  knew  very  little  and  assumed  to  know  every 
thing. 

"  The  trouble  with  you  fellows,"  responded  Mr.  Peter 
Mullens,  "  is  that  you  are  proud,  and  will  not  humble 
yourselves  to  learn.  If  you  felt  the  responsibility  of 
those  of  us  who  are  fitting  for  the  ministry,  you  would 
look  upon  the  matter  in  a  very  different  way.  We  have 
begun  our  work,  and  we  shall  carry  it  on,  whether  men 
will  hear  or  forbear." 

"  Is  it  any  of  your  business  whether  they  hear  or 
forbear?"  said  I,  touchily  :  "because,  if  it  is,  Henry 
and  I  will  sweep  the  floor  and  get  down  on  our  knees  to 
you." 

"  It  is  my  business  to  do  my  duty,  in  the  face  of  all 
the  taunts  and  ridicule  which  you  may  heap  upon  me," 
replied  Mr.  Mullens,  loftily. 

"Excuse  me,  Mr.  Mullens,"  I  said,  "but  it  seems  to 
me  that  fellows  of  your  sort  thrive  on  taunts  and  ridi 
cule.  Don't  you  rather  like  them  now  ?  " 


Arthur  Bonnicastle.  221 

Mr.  Mullens  smiled  a  sad,  pitying  smile,  and  said  that 
no  one  who  did  his  duty  could  hope  to  live  a  life  of  grat 
ified  pride  or  of  ease. 

"Mr.  Mullens,"  said  Henry,  "  I  suppose  that,  so  far 
as  you  know  your  own  motives,  those  which  led  you 
here  were  good  ;  but  lest  you  should  be  tempted  to  re 
peat  your  visit,  let  me  say  that  I  relieve  you  of  all  re 
sponsibility  for  my  future  conduct.  You  have  done  me 
all  the  good  that  you  can  possibly  do  me,  except  in  one 
way." 

"  What  is  that  ?  "  inquired  Mullens. 

"  By  carefully  keeping  out  of  this  room,  and  out  of 
my  sight,"  responded  Henry. 

"  Henry  has  expressed  my  feelings  exactly,"  I  added  ; 
"  and  now  I  think  there  is  a  fair  understanding  of  the 
matter,  and  we  can  feel  ourselves  at  liberty  to  change 
the  conversation." 

Mullens  sat  a  moment  in  thought,  then  he  adjusted 
his  spectacles,  tucked  down  his  false  shirt-bosom,  which 
always  looked  as  if  it  were  blown  up  and  needed  prick 
ing,  and  turning  to  me,  said  with  an  air  of  cunning  tri 
umph  :  "  Bonnicastle,  I  believe  you  are  one  of  us." 

"  What  do  you  mean?"  I  inquired. 

"  Why,  one  of  us  that  have  aid,  you  know — what  they 
call  charity  students." 

"  Charity  students  !  "  I  exclaimed  in  astonishment. 

"  Oh,  I've  found  it  out.  You  are  luckier  than  the 
rest  of  us,  for  you  have  no  end  of  money.  I  wish  you 
could  manage  in  some  way  to  get  the  old  woman  to  help 
me,  for  I  really  need  more  aid  than  I  have.  I  don't  sup 
pose  she  would  feel  a  gift  of  fifty  dollars  any  more  than 
she  would  one  of  fifty  cents.  So  small  a  sum  as  ten  dol 
lars  would  do  me  a  great  deal  of  good,  or  even  five." 

"  How  would  you  like  some  old  clothes  ?  "  inquired 
Henry  with  a  quiet  but  contemptuous  smile. 

"  That  is  really  what  I  would  like  to  speak  about/ 


222  Artlmr  Bonnicastle. 

said  Mr.  Mullens.  "  You  fellows  who  have  plenty  of 
money  throw  away  your  clothes  when  they  are  only  a 
little  worn  ;  and  when  you  have  any  to  give  away,  you 
would  oblige  me  very  much  by  remembering  me.  I  have 
no  new  clothes  myself.  I  take  the  crumbs  that  fall." 

"  And  that  reminds  me,"  resumed  Henry,  "  that  per 
haps  you  might  like  some  cold  victuals." 

"  No,  I'm  provided  for,  so  far  as  board  and  lodging 
are  concerned,"  responded  Mr.  Mullens,  entirely  uncon 
scious  of  the  irony  of  which  he  was  the  subject. 

Henry  turned  to  me  with  a  hopeless  look,  as  if  he  had 
sounded  himself  in  vain  to  find  words  which  would  ex 
press  his  contempt  for  the  booby  before  him.  As  foi 
myself,  I  had  been  so  taken  off  my  guard,  so  shamed 
with  the  thought  that  he  and  his  confreres  regarded  me 
as  belonging  to  their  number,  so  disgusted  with  the  fel 
low's  greed  and  lack  of  sensibility,  and  so  angry  at  his 
presumption,  that  I  could  not  trust  myself  to  speak  at 
all.  I  suspected  that  if  I  should  begin  to  express  my 
feelings  I  should  end  by  kicking  him  out  of  the  room. 

Henry  looked  at  him  for  a  moment,  in  a  sort  of  dumb 
wonder,  and  then  said  :  "  Peter  Mullens,  what  do  you 
suppose  I  think  of  you  ?  " 

There  was  something  in  the  flash  of  Henry's  eye  and 
in  the  tone  of  his  voice,  as  he  uttered  this  question,  that 
brought  Mullens  to  his  feet  in  an  impulse  to  retire. 

"  Sit  down,"  said  Henry. 

Mr.  Mullens  sat  down  with  his  hat  between  his  knees, 
and  mumbled  something  about  having  stayed  longer 
than  he  intended. 

"  You  cannot  go  yet,"  Henry  continued.  "  You  came 
in  here  to  lecture  us,  and  to  humiliate  one  of  us  ;  and 
now  I  propose  to  tell  you  what  I  think  of  you.  There  is 
not  the  first  element  of  a  gentleman  in  you.  You  came 
in  here  as  a  bully  in  the  name  of  religion,  you  advertise 
yourself  as  a  sneak  by  boasting  that  you  have  been  pry 


Arthur  Bonnicastle.  223 

ing  into  other  people's  affairs,  and  you  end  by  begging 
old  clothes  of  those  who  have  too  much  self-respect  to 
kick  you  for  your  impudence  and  your  impertinence. 
Do  you  suppose  that  such  a  puppy  as  you  are  can  ever 
prepare  for  the  ministry  ?  " 

I  think  that  this  was  probably  the  first  time  Petel 
Mullens  had  ever  heard  the  plain  truth  in  regard  to  him 
self.  He  was  very  much  astonished,  for  his  slow  appre 
hension  had  at  last  grasped  the  conclusions  that  he  was 
heartily  despised  and  that  he  was  in  strong  hands. 

"  I — really — really — beg  your  pardon,  gentlemen," 
said  Mr.  Mullens,  ramming  down  his  rising  shirt-bosom, 
and  wiping  his  hat  with  his  sleeve.  "  I  meant  no  offence, 
but  really— I — I — must  justify  myself  for  asking  for  aid. 
I  have  given  myself  to  the  church,  gentlemen,  and  the 
laborer  is  worthy  of  his  hire.  What  more  can  I  do  than 
to  give  myself?  The  church  wants  men.  The  church 
must  have  men  ;  and  she  owes  it  to  them  to  see  that  they 
are  taken  care  of.  If  she  neglects  her  duty  she  must 
l)e  reminded  of  it.  If  I  am  willing  to  take  up  with  old 
clothes,  she  ought  not  to  complain." 

Mr.  Mullens  paused  with  a  vocal  inflection  that  indi 
cated  a  deeply  wounded  heart,  rammed  down  his  shirt- 
bosom  again,  and  looked  to  Henry  for  a  response. 

"  There  is  one  thing,  Mr.  Mullens,"  said  Henry, 
"that  the  church  has  no  right  to  ask  you  to  give  up; 
one  thing  which  you  have  no  right  to  give  up  ;  and  one 
thing  which,  if  given  up,  leaves  you  as  worthless  to  the 
church  as  despicable  in  yourself,  and  that  is  manhood  ; 
and  I  know  of  nothing  that  kills  manhood  quicker  than 
a  perfectly  willing  dependence  on  others.  You  are  be 
ginning  life  as  a  beggar.  You  justify  yourself  in  beg 
gary,  and  it  takes  no  prophet  to  foresee  that  you  will  end 
life  as  a  beggar.  Once  down  where  you  are  willing  to  sell 
yourself  and  take  your  daily  dole  at  the  hand  of  your 
purchaser,  and  you  are  forever  down." 


224  Arthur  Bonnicastte. 

"  But  what  can  I  do  ?  "  inquired  Mullens. 

"  You  can  do  what  I  do,  and  what  thousands  of  your 
betters  are  doing  all  the  time — work  and  take  care  of 
yourself,"  replied  Henry. 

"  But  the  time — just  think  of  the  time  that  would  be 
lost  to  the  cause." 

"  I  am  not  very  old,"  responded  Henry,  "  but  I  am  old 
enough  to  know  that  the  time  which  independence  costs 
is  never  wasted.  A  man  who  takes  fifteen  years  to  pre 
pare  himself  for  life  is  twice  the  man,  when  prepared, 
that  he  is  who  only  takes  ten  ;  and  the  best  part  of  his 
education  is  that  which  he  gets  in  the  struggle  to  main 
tain  his  own  independence.  I  have  an  unutterable  con 
tempt  for  this  whole  charity  business,  as  it  is  applied  to 
the  education  of  young  men.  A  man  who  has  not  pluck 
and  persistence  enough  to  get  his  own  education  is  not 
worth  educating  at  all.  It  is  a  demoralizing  process,  and 
you,  Mr.  Peter  Mullens,  in  a  very  small  way,  are  one  of 
its  victims. 

Henry  had  been  so  thoroughly  absorbed  during  these 
last  utterances  that  he  had  not  once  looked  at  me.  I 
doubt,  indeed,  whether  he  was  conscious  of  my  presence  ; 
but  as  he  closed  his  sentence  he  turned  to  me,  and  was 
evidently  pained  and  surprised  at  the  expression  upon  my 
face.  With  a  quick  instinct  he  saw  how  readily  1  had 
applied  his  words  to  myself,  and,  once  more  addressing 
Mullens,  said  :  "  When  a  childless  woman  adopts  a  rel 
ative  as  a  member  of  her  family,  and  makes  him  her 
own,  and  a  sharer  in  her  love  and  fortune,  it  may  be  well 
or  ill  for  him,  but  it  is  none  of  your  business,  and  makes 
him  no  fellow  of  yours.  And  now,  Mr.  Mullens,  if  you 
wish  to  go,  you  are  at  liberty  to  do  so.  If  I  ever  have 
any  old  clothes  I  shall  certainly  remember  you." 

"  I  should  really  be  very  much  obliged  to  you,"  said 
Mr.  Mullens,  "and"  (turning  to  me)  "if  you  should 
happen  to  be  writing  to  your  aunt " 


Arthur  Bonnicastle.  225 

"  For  Heaven's  sake,  Mullens,"  exclaimed  Henry, 
"  go  now,"  and  then,  overwhelmed  with  the  comical  as 
pect  of  the  matter,  we  both  burst  into  a  laugh  that  was 
simply  irresistible.  Mullens  adjusted  his  spectacles 
with  a  dazed  look  upon  his  face,  brushed  back  his  hair, 
rammed  down  his  shirt-bosom,  buttoned  his  coat,  and 
very  soberly  bade  us  a  good-evening. 

Under  ordinary  circumstances  we  should  have  found 
abundant  food  for  merriment  between  ourselves  after  the 
man's  departure,  but  Henry,  under  the  impression  that 
he  had  unintentionally  wounded  me,  felt  that  nothing 
was  to  be  gained  by  recalling  and  explaining  his  words, 
and  I  was  too  sore  to  risk  the  danger  of  further  allusion 
to  the  subject.  By  revealing  my  position  and  relations 
to  Mullens,  Henry  had  sought,  in  the  kindest  way,  to 
place  me  at  my  ease,  and  had  done  all  that  he  had  the 
power  to  do  to  restore  my  self-complacency.  So  the 
moment  Mullens  left  the  room  some  other  subject  was 
broached,  and  in  half  an  hour  both  of  us  were  in  bed, 
and  Henry  was  sound  asleep. 

I  was  glad  in  my  consciousness  to  be  alone,  for  I  had 
many  things  to  think  of.  There  was  one  reason  for  the 
omission  of  all  comment  upon  our  visitor  and  our  con 
versation,  so  far  as  Henry  was  concerned,  which,  with  a 
quick  insight,  I  detected.  He  had,  in  his  anxiety  to  com 
fort  me,  spoken  of  me  as  a  relative  of  Mrs.  Sanderson. 
He  had  thus  revealed  to  me  the  possession  of  knowledge 
which  I  had  never  conveyed  to  him.  It  certainly  had 
not  reached  him  from  Mrs.  Sanderson,  nor  had  he  gath 
ered  it  from  Claire,  or  my  father's  family  ;  for  I  had  never 
breathed  a  word  to  them  of  the  secret  which  my  aunt  had 
permitted  me  to  discover.  He  must  have  learned  it  from 
the  Bradfords,  with  whom  he  had  maintained  great  inti 
macy.  I  had  long  been  aware  of  the  fact  that  he  was 
carrying  on  a  secret  life  into  which  I  had  never  been  per 
mitted  to  look.  I  should  not  have  cared  for  this  had  I 

10* 


226  Arthur  Bonnicastle. 

not  been  suspicious  that  I  was  in  some  way  concerned 
with  it.  I  knew  that  he  did  not  like  my  relations  to  Mrs. 
Sanderson,  and  that  he  did  not  wish  to  speak  of  them. 
I  had  learned  to  refrain  from  all  mention  of  her  name  ; 
but  he  had  talked  with  somebody  about  her  and  about 
me,  and  had  learned  one  thing,  at  least,  which  my  own 
father  did  not  know. 

All  this,  however,  was  a  small  vexation  compared  with 
the  revelation  of  the  influence  which  my  position  would 
naturally  exert  upon  my  character.  However  deeply  it 
might  wound  my  self-love,  I  knew  that  I  was  under  the 
same  influence  which  made  Mr.  Peter  Mullens  so  con 
temptible  a  person.  He  was  a  willing  dependent  upon 
strangers,  and  was  not  I  ?  This  dependence  was  sap 
ping  my  own  manhood  as  it  had  already  destroyed  his. 
If  Mullens  had  come  to  me  alone,  and  claimed  fellow 
ship  with  me — if  Henry  had  not  been  near  me  in  his 
quiet  and  self-respectful  independence  to  put  him  down 
— I  felt  that  there  would  have  been  no  part  for  me  to 
play  except  that  of  the  coward  or  the  bully.  I  had  no 
ground  on  which  to  stand  for  self-defence.  Mr.  Peter 
Mullens  would  have  been  master  of  the  situation.  The 
thought  galled  me  to  the  quick. 

It  was  in  vain  that  I  remembered  that  I  was  an  irre 
sponsible  child  when  this  dependence  began.  It  was  in 
vain  that  I  assured  myself  that  I  was  no  beggar.  The 
fact  remained  that  I  had  been  purchased  and  paid  for, 
and  that,  by  the  subtly  demoralizing  influence  of  depen 
dence,  I  had  been  so  weakened  that  I  shrank  from  as 
suming  the  responsibility  of  my  own  life.  I  clung  to  the 
gold  that  came  with  the  asking.  I  clung  to  the  delights 
that  only  the  gold  could  buy.  I  shuddered  at  the  thought 
of  taking  myself  and  my  fortunes  upon  my  own  hands, 
and  I  knew  by  that  fact  that  something  manly  had  sick 
ened  or  died  in  me. 

I  do  not  know  how  long  I  lay  revolving  these  things 


Arthur  Bonnicastlc.  227 

in  my  mind.  It  was  certainly  far  into  the  night;  and 
when  I  woke  in  the  morning  I  found  my  heart  discon 
tented  and  bitter.  I  had  regarded  myself  as  a  gentle 
man.  I  had  borne  myself  with  a  considerable  degree  of 
exchisiveness.  I  had  not  cared  for  recognition.  Having 
determined  to  do  my  work  well,  and  to  seek  no  man's 
company  as  a  thing  necessary  to  fix  my  social  status,  I 
had  gone  on  quietly  and  self-respectfully.  Now  I  was 
to  go  out  and  meet  the  anger  of  Peter  Mullens  and  his 
tribe.  I  was  to  be  regarded  and  spoken  of  by  them  as 
a  very  unworthy  member  of  their  own  order.  My  his 
tory  had  been  ascertained,  and  would  be  reported  to  all 
who  knew  me. 

All  these  reflections  and  suggestions  may  seem  very 
foolish  and  morbid  to  the  reader,  but  they  were  distress 
ing  to  me  beyond  my  power  of  telling.  I  was  young, 
sensitive,  proud,  and  self-loving,  and  though  I  prayed 
for  help  to  enable  me  to  face  my  fellows,  and  so  to 
manage  my  life  as  to  escape  the  harm  which  my  position 
threatened  to  inflict  upon  me,  I  could  not  escape  tho 
conviction  that  Peter  Mullens  and  I  were,  essentially, 
on  the  same  ground. 

Up  to  this  time  I  had  looked  for  temptations  in  vain. 
No  temptations  to  dissipation  had  presented  themselves. 
I  was  sure  that  no  enticement  to  sensuality  or  gross 
vice  would  have  power  to  move  me.  Steady  employ 
ment  and  daily  fatigue  held  in  check  my  animal  spirits, 
and  all  my  life  had  gone  on  safely  and  smoothly.  The 
daily  prayer  had  brought  me  back  from  every  heart- 
wandering,  had  sweetened  and  elevated  all  my  desires, 
had  strengthened  me  for  my  work,  and  given  me  some 
thing  of  the  old  peace.  Away  from  Henry,  I  had  found 
but  little  sympathetic  Christian  society,  but  I  had  been 
entirely  at  home  and  satisfied  with  him.  Now  I  found 
that  it  required  courage  to  face  the  little  world  around 
me  ;  and  almost  unconsciously  I  began  the  work  of 


228  Arthur  Bonnicastle. 

making  acquaintances  with  the  better  class  of  students. 
Although  I  had  held  myself  apart  from  others,  there 
were  two  or  three,  similarly  exclusive,  whom  I  had 
entertained  a  private  desire  to  know.  One  of  these  was 
a  New  Yorker,  Mr.  Gordon  Livingston  by  name.  He 
had  the  reputation  of  belonging  to  a  family  of  great 
wealth  and  splendid  connections,  and  although  his 
standing  as  a  student  was  not  the  best,  it  was  regarded 
as  an  honor  to  know  him  and  the  little  set  to  which  he 
belonged.  I  was  aware  that  the  morality  of  the  man 
and  his  immediate  companions  was  not  much  believed 
in,  and  I  knew,  too,  that  the  mean  envy  and  jealousy  of 
many  students  would  account  for  this.  At  any  rate,  I 
was  in  a  mood,  after  my  interview  with  Mr.  Mullens,  to 
regard  him  very  charitably,  and  to  wish  that  I  might  be 
so  far  recognized  by  him  and  received  into  his  set  as  to 
advertise  to  Mullens  and  his  clique  my  social  removal 
from  them.  I  determined  to  brace  myself  around  with 
aristocratic  associations.  I  had  the  means  in  my  hands 
for  this  work.  I  could  dress  with  the  best.  I  had  per 
sonal  advantages  of  which  I  need  not  boast  here,  but 
which  I  was  conscious  would  commend  me  to  them.  I 
had  no  intention  to  cast  in  my  life  with  them,  but  I  de 
termined  to  lose  no  good  opportunity  to  gain  their  rec 
ognition. 

One  evening,  walking  alone,  outside  the  limits  of  the 
town — for  in  my  morbid  mood  I  had  taken  to  solitary 
wanderings— I  fell  in  with  Livingston,  also  alone.  We 
had  approached  each  other  from  opposite  directions, 
and  met  at  the  corners  of  the  road  that  led  to  the  city, 
toward  which  we  were  returning.  We  walked  side  by 
side,  with  only  the  road  between  us,  for  a  few  yards, 
when,  to  my  surprise,  he  crossed  over,  saying  as  he  ap 
proached  me  :  "  Hullo,  Mr.  Bonnicastle  !  What's  the 
use  of  two  good-looking  fellows  like  us  walking  alone 
when  they  can  have  company  ?  " 


Arthur  Bonnicastle.  229 

As  he  came  up  I  gave  him  my  hand,  and  called  him 
by  name. 

"  So  you've  known  me,  as  I  have  known  you,"  he  said 
cordially.  "  It's  a  little  singular  that  we  haven't  been 
thrown  together  before,  for  I  fancy  you  belong  to  our 
kind  of  fellows." 

I  expressed  freely  the  pleasure  I  felt  in  meeting  him, 
and  told  him  how  glad  I  should  be  to  make  the  acquaint 
ance  of  his  friends  ;  and  we  passed  the  time  occupied  in 
reaching  the  college  in  conversation  that  was  very  pleas 
ant  to  me. 

Livingston  was  older  than  I,  and  was  two  classes  in 
advance  of  me.  He  was  therefore  in  a  position  to  pat 
ronize  and  pet  me — a  position  which  he  thoroughly  un 
derstood  and  appreciated.  In  his  manner  he  had  that 
quiet  self-assurance  and  command  that  only  come  from 
life-long  familiarity  with  good  society,  and  the  con 
sciousness  of  unquestioned  social  position.  He  had  no 
youth  of  poverty  to  look  back  upon.  He  had  no  asso 
ciations  with  mean  conditions  and  circumstances.  With 
an  attractive  face  and  figure,  a  hearty  manner,  a  dress 
at  once  faultlessly  tasteful  and  unobtrusive,  and  with  all 
the  prestige  of  wealth  and  family,  there  were  few  young 
fellows  in  college  whose  notice  would  so  greatly  flatter  a 
novice  as  his.  The  men  who  spoke  against  him  and 
affected  contempt  for  him  would  have  accepted  atten 
tion  from  him  as  an  honor. 

Livingston  had  undoubtedly  heard  my  story,  but  he 
did  not  sympathize  with  the  views  of  Mr.  Peter  Mul 
lens  and  his  friends  concerning  it.  He  found  me  as 
well  dressed  as  himself,  quite  as  exclusive  in  my  as 
sociations,  liked  my  looks  and  manners,  and,  with  all 
the  respect  for  money  natural  to  his  class,  concluded 
that  I  belonged  to  him  and  his  set.  In  the  mood  of 
mind  in  which  I  found  myself  at  meeting  him,  it  can 
readily  be  imagined  that  his  recognition  and  his  as- 


230  Artliur  Bonnicastle. 

surance  of  friendliness  and  fellowship  brought  me  great 
relief. 

As  we  entered  the  town,  and  took  our  way  across  the 
green,  he  became  more  cordial,  and  pulled  my  arm 
within  his  own.  We  were  walking  in  this  way  when  we 
met  Mr.  Mullens  and  a  knot  of  his  fellows  standing  near 
the  path.  It  was  already  twilight,  and  they  did  not  rec 
ognize  us  until  we  were  near  them.  Then  they  paused, 
in  what  seemed  to  have  been  an  excited  conversation, 
and  stared  at  us  with  silert  impertinence. 

Livingston  hugged  my  arm  and  said  coolly  and  dis 
tinctly  :  "  By  the  way,  speaking  of  mules,  have  you  ever 
familiarized  yourself  with  the  natural  history  of  the  ass  ? 
I  assure  you  it  is  very  interesting — his  length  of  ear,  his 
food  of  thistles,  his  patience  under  insult,  the  toughness 

of  his  hide — in  short "  By  this  time  we  were  beyond 

their  hearing,  and  he  paused. 

I  gave  a  scared  laugh  which  the  group  must  also  have 
heard,  and  said  :  "  Well,  that  was  cool,  anyway." 

"  You  see,"  said  Livingston,  "  I  wanted  to  have  them 
understand  that  we  had  been  improving  our  minds,  by 
devotion  to  scientific  subjects.  They  were  bound  to 
hear  what  we  said,  and  I  wanted  to  leave  a  good  im 
pression." 

The  cool  impudence  of  the  performance  took  me  by 
surprise,  but,  on  the  whole,  it  pleased  me.  It  was  a 
deed  that  I  never  could  have  done  myself,  and  I  was  as 
tonished  to  find  that  there  was  something  in  it  that  grat 
ified  a  spirit  of  resentment  of  which  I  had  been  the  un 
conscious  possessor.  The  utter  indifference  of  the  man 
to  their  spite  was  an  attainment  altogether  beyond  me, 
and  I  could  not  help  admiring  it. 

Livingston  accompanied  me  to  my  room,  but  we  part 
ed  at  the  door,  although  I  begged  the  privilege  of  taking 
him  in  and  making  him  acquainted  with  my  chum.  He 
left  me  with  an  invitation  to  call  upon  him  at  my  conve* 


Arthur  Bonnicastle.  231 

nience,  and  I  entered  my  room  in  a  much  lighter  mood 
than  that  which  drove  me  out  from  it.  I  did  not  tell 
Henry  at  once  of  my  new  acquaintance,  for  I  was  not  at 
all  sure  that  he  would  be  pleased  with  the  information. 
Indeed,  I  knew  he  would  not  be,  for  he  was  a  fair  meas 
urer  of  personal  values,  and  held  Livingston  and  Mul 
lens  in  nearly  equal  dislike.  Still  I  took  a  strange  com 
fort  in  the  thought  that  I  had  entered  the  topmost 
clique,  and  that  Mullens,  the  man  who  had  determined 
to  bring  me  to  his  own  level,  had  seen  me  arm-in-arm 
with  one  of  the  most  exclusive  and  aristocratic  fellows 
in  the  college. 

And  now,  lest  the  reader  should  suppose  that  Henry 
had  a  knowledge  of  Livingston's  immorality  of  charac 
ter  which  justified  his  dislike  of  him,  I  ought  to  say  at 
once  that  he  was  not  a  bad  man,  so  far  as  I  was  able  to 
learn.  If  he  indulged  in  immoral  practices  with  those 
of  his  own  age,  he  never  led  me  into  them.  I  came  to 
be  on  familiar  terms  with  him  and  them.  I  was  younger 
than  most  of  them,  and  was  petted  by  them.  My  purse 
was  as  free  as  theirs  on  all  social  occasions,  and  I  was 
never  made  to  feel  that  I  was  in  any  way  their  in 
ferior. 

Henry  was  a  worker  who  had  his  own  fortune  to  make, 
and  he  proposed  to  make  it.  He  was  conscious  that  the 
whole  clique  of  which  Livingston  was  a  member  held 
nothing  in  common  with  him,  and  that  they  considered 
him  to  be  socially  beneath  them.  He  knew  they  were 
not  actuated  by  manly  aims,  and  that  they  had  no  sym 
pathy  with  those  who  were  thus  actuated.  They  studied 
no  more  than  was  necessary  to  avoid  disgrace.  They 
intended  to  have  an  easy  time.  They  were  thoroughly 
good-natured  among  themselves,  laughed  freely  about 
professors  and  tutors,  took  a  very  superficial  view  of  life, 
and  seemed  to  regard  the  college  as  a  mill  through  which 
it  was  necessary  to  pass,  or  a  waiting-place  in  which  it 


232  Artlmr  Bonnicastle. 

was   considered   the   proper   thing   to   stop   until   theh 
beards  should  mature. 

The  society  of  these  men  had  no  bad  effect  upon  me, 
or  none  perceptible  to  myself  for  a  long  time.  Braced 
by  them  as  I  was,  Mr.  Mullens  made  no  headway  against 
me  ;  and  I  came  at  last  to  feel  that  my  position  was  se 
cure.  With  the  corrective  of  Henry's  society  and  exam 
ple,  and  with  the  habit  of  daily  devotion  unimpaired,  I 
went  on  for  months  with  a  measurable  degree  of  satis 
faction  to  myself.  Still  I  was  conscious  of  a  gradually 
lowering  tone  of  feeling.  By  listening  to  the  utterance 
of  careless  words  and  worldly  sentiments  from  my  new 
companions,  I  came  to  look  leniently  upon  many  things 
and  upon  many  men  once  abhorrent  to  me.  Uncon 
sciously  at  the  time,  I  tried  to  bring  my  Christianity  into 
a  compromise  with  worldliness,  and  to  sacrifice  my  scru 
ples  of  conscience  to  what  seemed  to  be  the  demands  of 
social  usage.  I  had  found  the  temptation  for  which  I 
had  sought  so  long,  and  which  had  so  long  sought  with 
out  finding  me,  but  alas  !  I  did  not  recognize  it  when  it 
came. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

MY   FIRST  VISIT  TO   NEW  YORK,  AND   MY   FIRST  GLASS 
OF  WINE. 

RELYING  upon  my  new  associations  for  the  preserva 
tion  of  my  social  position,  now  that  my  history  had  be 
come  known  in  the  college,  it  was  necessary  for  me  to 
be  seen  occasionally  with  the  set  to  which  I  had  been 
admitted  and  welcomed.  This  apparent  necessity  not 
unfrequently  led  me  to  their  rooms,  in  which  there  were 
occasional  gatherings  of  the  fellows,  and  in  one  or  two 
of  which  a  surreptitious  bo'ttle  of  wine  was  indulged  in 


Arthur  Bonnicastle.  233 

Of  the  wine  I  steadily  refused  to  be  a  partaker,  and  it 
was  never  urged  upon  me  but  once,  when  Livingston  in 
terposed,  and  said  I  should  act  my  own  pleasure.  This 
made  the  attempt  to  carry  on  my  double  life  easier,  and 
saved  me  from  being  scared  away  from  it.  There  was 
no  carousing  and  no  drunkenness — nothing  to  offend,  in 
those  modest  symposia — and  they  came  at  last  to  wear 
a  very  harmless  look  to  me,  associated  as  they  were  with 
good  fellowship  and  hospitality. 

Walking  one  day  with  Livingston,  who  fancied  me  and 
liked  to  have  me  with  him,  he  said  :  "  Bonnicastle,  you 
ought  to  see  more  of  the  world.  You've  been  cooped 
up  all  your  life,  and  are  as  innocent  as  a  chicken." 

"  You  wouldn't  have  me  anything  but  innocent,  would 
you  ?  "  I  said,  laughing. 

"  Not  a  bit  of  it.  I  like  a  clean  fellow  like  you,  but 
you  must  see  something,  some  time." 

"  There'll  be  time  enough  for  that  when  I  get  through 
study,"  I  responded. 

"Yes,  I  suppose  so,"  he  said,  "  but,  my  -boy,  I've 
taken  it  into  my  head  to  introduce  you  to  New  York 
life.  I  would  like  to  show  you  my  mother  and  sisters 
and  my  five  hundred  friends.  I  want  to  have  you  see 
where  I  live  and  how  I  live,  and  get  a  taste  of  my  sort  of 
life.  Bradford  and  your  aunt  are  all  very  well,  I  dare 
say,  but  they  are  a  little  old-fashioned,  I  fancy.  Come, 
now,  don't  they  bore  you  ?  " 

"No,  they  don't,"  I  replied  heartily.  "The  best 
friends  I  have  in  the  world  are  in  Bradford,  and  I  am 
more  anxious  to  please  and  satisfy  them  than  I  can  tell 
you.  They  are  very  fond  of  me,  and  that  goes  a  great 
way  with  such  a  fellow  as  I  am." 

"  Oh,  I  understand  that,"  said  Livingston,  "  but  I  am 
fond  of  you  too,  and,  what's  more,  you  must  go  home 
with  me  next  Christmas,  for  I  shall  leave  college  when 
another  summer  comes,  and  that  will  be  the  last  of  me, 


234  Arthur  Bonnicastle. 

so  far  as  you  are  concerned.  Now  you  must  make  thai 
little  arrangement  with  your  aunt.  You  can  tell  her 
what  a  splendid  fellow  I  am,  and  humbug  the  old  lady 
in  any  harmless  way  you  choose  ;  but  the  thing  must  be 
done." 

The  project,  to  tell  the  truth,  set  my  heart  bounding 
with  a  keen  anticipation  of  delight.  Livingston  was  the 
first  New  York  friend  I  had  made  who  seemed  to  be 
worth  the  making.  To  be  received  into  his  family  and 
introduced  to  the  acquaintance  of  his  friends  seemed  to 
me  to  be  the  best  opportunity  possible  for  seeing  the 
city  on  its  better  side.  I  was  sure  that  he  would  not 
willingly  lead  me  into  wrong-doing.  He  had  always 
forborne  any  criticism  of  my  conscientious  scruples.  So 
I  set  myself  at  work  to  win  Mrs.  Sanderson's  consent  to 
the  visit.  She  had  become  increasingly  fond  of  me,  and 
greedy  of  my  presence  and  society  with  her  increasing 
age,  and  I  knew  it  would  be  an  act  of  self-denial  for  her 
to  grant  my  request.  However,  under  my  eloquent  rep 
resentations  of  the  desirableness  of  the  visit,  on  social 
grounds,  she  was  persuaded,  and  I  had  the  pleasure  of 
reporting  her  consent  to  Livingston. 

I  pass  over  the  events  of  the  swift  months  that  made 
up  the  record  of  my  first  year  and  of  the  second  autumn 
of  my  college  life,  mentioning  only  the  facts  that  I  main 
tained  a  respectable  position  in  my  class  without  excel 
lence,  and  that  I  visited  home  twice.  Everything  went 
on  well  in  my  aunt's  family.  She  retained  the  health 
she  had  regained  ;  and  Mrs.  Belden  had  become,  as  her 
helper  and  companion,  everything  she  had  anticipated. 
She  had  taken  upon  herself  much  of  the  work  I  had 
learned  to  do,  and,  so  far  as  I  could  see,  the  family  life 
was  harmonious  and  happy. 

My  vanity  was  piqued  by  the  reflection  that  Henry 
had  achieved  better  progress  than  I,  and  was  much  more 
generally  respected.  He  had  gradually  made  himself  a 


Arthur  Bounicastle.  235 

social  centre  without  the  effort  to  do  so,  and  hac  pushed 
his  way  by  sterling  work  and  worth.  Nothing  of  this, 
however,  was  known  in  Bradford,  and  we  were  received 
with  equal  consideration  by  all  our  friends. 

For  months  the  projected  holiday  visit  to  New  York 
had  shone  before  me  as  a  glittering  goal ;  and  when  at 
last,  on  a  sparkling  December  morning,  I  found  myself 
with  Livingston  dashing  over  the  blue  waters  of  the  Sound 
toward  the  great  city,  my  heart  bounded  with  pleasure. 
Had  I  been  a  winged  spirit,  about  to  explore  a  new  star, 
I  could  not  have  felt  more  buoyantly  expectant.  Liv 
ingston  was  as  delighted  as  myself,  for  he  was  sympa 
thetic  with  me,  and  anticipated  great  enjoyment  in  be 
ing  the  cup-bearer  at  this  new  feast  of  my  life. 

We  passed  Hellgate,  we  slid  by  the  sunny  islands,  we 
approached  the  gray-blue  cloud  pierced  by  a  hundred 
shadowy  spires  under  which  the  city  lay.  Steamers 
pushed  here  and  there,  forests  of  masts  bristled  in  the 
distance,  asthmatic  little  tugs  were  towing  great  ships 
seaward,  ferry-boats  crowded  with  men  reeled  out  from 
their  docks  and  flew  in  every  direction,  and  a  weather- 
beaten,  black  ship,  crowded  with  immigrants,  cheered 
us  as  we  rushed  by  them.  As  far  as  the  eye  could  see, 
down  the  river  and  out  upon  the  bay,  all  was  life,  large 
and  abounding.  My  heart  swelled  within  me  as  I  gazed 
upon  the  splendid  spectacle,  and  in  a  moment,  my  past 
life  and  all  that  was  behind  me  were  dwarfed  and  insig 
nificant. 

As  we  approached  the  wharf,  we  saw  among  the  as 
semblage  of  hacks  and  their  drivers — drivers  who  with 
frantic  whips  endeavored  to  attract  our  attention — a 
plain,  shining  carriage,  with  a  coachman  and  frfotman  in 
livery  on  the  box.  The  men  saw  us,  and  raised  their 
hats.  The  footman  jumped  from  his  place  as  we  touched 
the  wharf,  and,  relieved  by  him  of  our  satchels,  we 
quietly  walked  through  the  boisterous  crowd,  entered 


2  36  Arthur  Bonuicastle. 

the  coach,  and  slowly  took  our  way  along  the  busy 
streets.  To  be  thus  shut  in  behind  the  cleanest  of  cut- 
glass,  to  recline  upon  the  most  luxurious  upholstery,  to 
be  taken  care  of  and  shielded  from  all  the  roughness  of 
that  tumultuous  out-door  world,  to  be  lifted  out  of  the 
harsh  necessities  that  made  that  world  forbidding,  to 
feel  that  I  was  a  favored  child  of  fortune,  filled  me  with 
a  strange,  selfish  delight.  It  was  like  entering  upon  the 
realization  of  a  great,  sweet  dream. 

Livingston  watched  my  face  with  much  secret  pleas 
ure,  I  do  not  doubt,  but  he  said  little,  except  to  point 
out  to  me  the  more  notable  edifices  on  the  route.  I  was 
in  a  city  of  palaces — warehouses  that  were  the  homes  of 
mighty  commerce  and  dwellings  that  spoke  of  marvel 
lous  wealth.  Beautiful  women,  wrapped  in  costly  furs, 
swept  along  the  pavement,  or  peered  forth  from  the 
windows  of  carriages  like  our  own  ;  shops  were  in  their 
holiday  attire  and  crowded  with  every  conceivable  arti 
cle  of  luxury  and  taste,  and  the  evidences  of  money, 
money,  money,  pressed  upon  me  from  every  side.  My 
love  of  beautiful  things  and  of  beautiful  life — life  re 
lieved  of  all  its  homely  details  and  necessities — life  that 
came  through  the  thoughtful  and  skilful  ministry  of 
others — life  that  commanded  what  it  wanted  with  the 
waving  of  a  hand  or  the  breathing  of  a  word — life  that 
looked  down  upon  all  other  life  and  looked  up  to  none — 
my  love  of  this  life,  always  in  me,  and  more  and  more 
developed  by  the  circumstances  which  surrounded  me, 
was  stimulated  and  gratified  beyond  measure. 

At  length  we  drew  up  to  a  splendid  house  in  a  fash 
ionable  quarter  of  the  city.  The  footman  opened  the 
door  in  a  twinkling,  and  we  ran  up  the  broad  steps  to  a 
landing  at  which  an  eager  mother  waited.  Smothered 
with  welcoming  kisses  from  her  and  his  sisters,  Living 
ston  could  not  immediately  present  me,  and  Mrs.  Liv 
ingston  saved  him  the  trouble  by  calling  my  name  and 


Arthur  Bonnicastle.  237 

taking  my  hand  with  a  dignified  cordiality  which  charmed 
me.  The  daughters,  three  in  number,  were  shyer,  but 
no  less  hearty  in  their  greeting  than  their  mother.  Two 
of  them  were  young  ladies,  and  the  third  was  evidently 
a  school-girl  who  had  come  home  to  spend  the  holidays. 

Livingston  and  I  soon  mounted  to  our  room,  but  in 
the  brief  moments  of  our  pause  in  the  library  and  our 
passage  through  the  hall  my  eyes  had  been  busy,  and 
had  taken  in  by  hurried  glances  the  beautiful  appoint 
ments  of  my  friend's  home.  It  was  as  charming  as  good 
taste  could  make  it,  with  unlimited  wealth  at  command. 
The  large  mirrors,  the  exquisite  paintings,  the  luxurious 
furniture,  the  rich  carvings,  the  objects  of  art  and  vertti, 
gathered  from  all  lands,  and  grouped  with  faultless  tact 
and  judgment,  the  carpets  into  which  the  foot  sank  as 
into  a  close-cropped  lawn,  the  artistic  forms  of  every  ar 
ticle  of  service  and  convenience,  all  combined  to  make 
an  interior  that  was  essentially  a  poem.  I  had  never 
before  seen  such  a  house,  and  when  I  looked  upon  its 
graceful  and  gracious  keepers,  and  received  their  gentle 
courtesies,  I  went  upstairs  with  head  and  heart  and  sense 
as  truly  intoxicated  as  if  I  had  been  mastered  by  music, 
or  eloquence,  or  song. 

At  the  dinner-table,  for  which  we  made  a  Careful 
toilet,  all  these  impressions  were  confirmed  or  height 
ened.  The  ladies  were  exquisitely  dressed,  the  service 
was  the  perfection  of  quiet  and  thoughtful  ceremony, 
the  cooking  was  French,  the  china  and  glass  were  ob 
jects  of  artistic  study  in  their  forms  and  decorations,  the 
choicest  flowers  gathered  from  a  conservatory  which 
opened  into  the  dining-room,  breathed  a  delicate  per 
fume,  and  all  the  materials  and  ministries  of  the  meal 
were  wrapped  in  an  atmosphere  of  happy  leisure.  Liv 
ingston  was  evidently  a  favorite  and  pet  of  the  family, 
and  as  he  had  come  back  to  his  home  from  anothel 
sphere  and  experience  of  life,  the  conversation  was  sur- 


238  Arthur  Bonnicastle. 

rendered  to  him.  Into  this  conversation  he  adroitly  drew 
me,  and  under  the  grateful  excitements  of  the  hour  I 
talked  as  I  had  never  talked  before.  The  ladies  flattered 
me  by  their  attention  and  applause,  and  nothing  occurred 
to  dampen  my  spirits  until,  at  the  dessert,  Mrs.  Livingston 
begged  the  pleasure  of  drinking  a  glass  of  wine  with  me. 

Throughout  the  dinner  I  had  declined  the  wine  that 
had  been  proffered  with  every  course.  It  was  quietly 
done,  with  only  a  motion  of  the  hand  to  indicate  re 
fusal,  and  I  do  not  think  the  family  had  ncaced  that  I  had 
not  taken  my  wine  with  themselves.  Now  the  case  was 
different.  A  lady  whom  I  honored,  whom  I  desired  to 
please,  who  was  doing  her  best  to  honor  and  please  me 
— my  friend's  mother  at  her  own  table — offered  what  she 
intended  to  be  a  special  honor.  My  face  flamed  with 
embarrassment,  I  stammered  out  some  sort  of  apology, 
and  declined. 

"  Now,  mother,  you  really  must  not  do  anything  of 
that  sort,"  said  Livingston,  "  unless  you  wish  to  drive 
Bonnicastle  out  of  the  house.  I  meant  to  have  told  you. 
It's  one  of  the  things  I  like  in  him,  for  it  shows  that  he's 
clean  and  plucky." 

"  But  only  one  little  glass,  you  know — just  a  sip,  to 
celebrate  the  fact  that  we  like  one  another,"  said  Mrs. 
Livingston,  with  an  encouraging  smile. 

But  I  did  not  drink.  Livingston  still  interposed,  and, 
although  the  family  detected  the  disturbed  condition  of 
my  feelings,  and  did  what  they  could  to  restore  my 
equanimity,  I  felt  that  my  little  scruple  had  been  a  dis 
cord  in  the  music  of  the  feast. 

Mr.  Livingston,  the  head  of  the  house,  had  not  yet 
shown  himself.  His  wife  regretted  his  absence,  or  said 
she  regretted  it,  but  he  had  some  special  reason  for  din 
ing  at  his  club  that  day  ;  and  I  may  as  well  say  that  that 
red-faced  gentleman  seemed  to  have  a  special  reason  foi 
dining  at  his  club  nearly  every  day  while  I  remained  iu 


ArtJiur  Bonnicastle.  239 

New  York,  although  he  consented  to  get  boozy  at  his 
own  table  on  Christmas. 

We  had  delightful  music  in  the  evening^  and  my  eyes 
were  feasted  with  pictures  and  statuary  and  the  bric-a- 
brac  gathered  in  long  foreign  travel ;  but  when  I  retired 
for  the  night  I  was  in  no  mood  for  devotion,  and  I  found 
myself  quarrelling  with  the  scruple  which  had  prevented 
me  from  accepting  the  special  friendly  courtesy  of  my 
hostess  at  dinner. 

Wine  seemed  to  be  the  natural  attendant  upon  this 
high  and  beautiful  life.  It  was  the  most  delicate  and 
costly  language  in  which  hospitality  could  speak.  There 
were  ladies  before  me,  old  and  young,  who  took  it  with 
out  a  thought  of  wrong  or  of  harm.  Was  there  any 
wrong  or  harm  in  it  ?  Was  my  objection  to  it  born  of  a 
narrow  education,  or  an  austere  view  of  life,  or  of  preju 
dices  that  were  essentially  vulgar  ?  One  thing  I  saw 
very  plainly,  viz.,  that  the  practice  of  total  abstinence  in 
the  society  and  surroundings  which  I  most  courted  would 
make  me  uncomfortably  singular,  and,  what  was  most 
distressing  to  me,  suggest  the  vulgar  rusticity  of  my  as 
sociations. 

From  my  childhood  wine  and  strong  drink  had  been 
represented  to  me  to  be  the  very  poison  on  which  vice 
and  immorality  lived  and  thrived.  My  father  had  a 
hatred  of  them  which  no  words  could  express.  They 
were  the  devil's  own  instruments  for  the  destruction  of 
the  souls  and  lives  of  men.  I  was  bred  to  this  belief 
and  opinion.  Mr.  Bradford  had  warned  me  against  the 
temptation  to  drink,  in  whatever  form  it  might  present 
itself.  Mr.  Bird  was  a  sworn  foe  to  all  that  had  the 
power  to  intoxicate.  When  I  went  away  from  home,  it 
was  with  a  determination,  entered  into  and  confirmed 
upon  my  knees,  that  I  would  neither  taste  nor  handle 
the  seductive  draught  which  had  brought  ruin  tp  sucjj 
multitudes  of  young  men. 


240  Arthur  Bonnicastle, 

Yet  I  lay  for  hours  that  first  night  in  my  friend'* 
home,  while  he  was  quietly  sleeping,  debating  the  ques 
tion  whether,  in  the  new  and  unlooked-for  circum 
stances  in  which  I  found  myself,  I  should  yield  my  scru 
ples,  and  thus  bring  myself  into  harmony  with  the  life 
that  had  so  many  charms  for  me.  Then  my  imagination 
went  forward  into  the  beautiful  possibilities  of  my  future 
life  in  The  Mansion,  with  the  grand  old  house  refitted 
and  refurnished,  with  its  service  enlarged  and  refined, 
with  a  graceful  young  figure  occupying  Mrs.  Sanderson's 
place,  and  with  all  the  delights  around  me  that  eye  and 
ear  could  covet,  and  taste  devise  and  gather. 

In  fancies  like  these  I  found  my  scruples  fading  away, 
and  those  manly  impulses  and  ambitions  which  had 
moved  me  mightily  at  first,  but  which  had  stirred  me 
less  and  less  with  the  advancing  months,  almost  extin 
guished.  I  was  less  interested  in  what  I  should  do  to 
make  myself  a  man,  with  power  and  influence  upon 
those  around  me,  than  with  what  I  should  enjoy.  One 
turn  of  the  kaleidoscope  had  changed  the  vision  from  a 
mass  of  plain  and  soberly  tinted  crystals  to  a  galaxy  of 
brilliants,  which  enchained  and  enchanted  me. 

I  slid  at  last  from  fancies  into  dreams.  Beautiful 
maidens  with  yellow  hair  and  sweeping  robes  moved 
through  grand  saloons,  pausing  at  harp  and  piano  to 
flood  the  air  with  the  rain  of  heavenly  music  ;  stately 
dames  bent  to  me  with  flattering  words  ;  groups  in  mar 
ble  wreathed  their  snowy  arms  against  a  background  of 
flowering  greenery  ;  gilded  chandeliers  blazed  through 
screens  of  prismatic  crystal ;  fountains  sang  and  splashed 
and  sparkled,  yet  all  the  time  there  was  a  dread  of  some 
lurking  presence — some  serpent  that  was  about  to  leap 
and  grasp  me  in  its  coils — some  gorgon  that  would  show 
his  grinning  head  behind  the  forms  of  beauty  that  cap 
tivated  my  senses — some  impersonated  terror  that  by 
the  shake  of  its  finder  or  the  utterance  of  a  dreadful 


Arthur  Bonnicastle,  241 

word  would  shatter  the  beautiful  world  around  me  into 
fragments,  or  scorch  it  into  ashes. 

I  woke  the  next  morning  unrefreshed  and  unhappy. 
I  woke  with  that  feeling  of  weariness  which  comes  to 
.every  man  who  tampers  with  his  convictions,  and  feels 
that  he  has  lost  something  that  has  been  a  cherished 
•part  of  himself.  This  feeling  wore  away  as  I  heard  the 
roar  of  carriages  through  the  streets,  and  realized  the 
novelty  of  the  scenes  around  me.  Livingston  was  merry, 
and  at  the  breakfast-table,  which  was  crowned  with  flow 
ers  and  Christmas  gifts,  the  trials  of  the  previous  night 
were  all  forgotten. 

The  Livingstons  were  Episcopalians — the  one  Protes 
tant  sect  which  in  those  days  made  much  of  Christmas. 
We  all  attended  their  church,  and  for  the  first  time  in 
my  life  I  witnessed  its  beautiful  ritual.  The  music,  pre 
pared  with  great  care  for  the  occasion,  was  more  im 
pressive  than  any  I  had  ever  heard.  My  aesthetic  nature 
was  charmed.  Everything  seemed  to  harmonize  with 
the  order  and  the  appointments  of  the  house  I  had  just 
left.  And  there  was  my  stately  hostess,  with  her  lovely 
daughters,  kneeling  and  devoutly  responding— she  who 
!iad  offered  and  they  who  had  drunk  without  offence  to 
their  consciences  the  wine  which  I,  no  better  than  they, 
'iad  refused.  They  could  be  Christians  and  drink  wine, 
and  why  not  I  ?  It  must  be  all  a  matter  of  education. 
High  life  could  be  devoutly  religious  life,  and  religious 
life  was  not  harmed  by  wine.  My  conscience  had  receiv 
ed  its  salvo,  and  oh,  pitiful,  recreant  coward  that  I  was, 
I  was  ready  to  be  tempted  ! 

The  Christmas  dinner  brought  the  temptation.  Mr. 
Livingston  was  at  home,  and  presided  at  his  table.  He 
had  broached  a  particularly  old  and  choice  bottle  of 
wine  for  the  occasion,  and  would  beg  the  pleasure  of 
drinking  with  the  young  men.  And  the  young  men 
drank  with  him,  and  both  had  the  dishonor  of  seeing 


242  Arthur  Bonnicastle. 

him  stupid  and  silly  before  he  left  the  board.  I  did  not 
look  at  Mrs.  Livingston  during  the  dinner.  I  had  re 
fused  to  drink  with  her  the  day  before,  and  I  had  fallen 
from  my  resolution.  The  wine  I  drank  did  not  go  down 
to  warm  and  stimulate  the  sources  of  my  life,  nor  did 
it  rise  and  spread  confusion  through  my  brain,  but  it 
burned  in  my  conscience  as.  if  a  torch,  dipped  in  some 
liquid  hell,  had  been  tossed  there. 

It  was  a  special  occasion — this  was  what  I  whispered 
to  my  conscience — this  was  the  breath  that  I  breathed 
a  hundred  times  into  it  to  quench  the  hissing  torture. 
It  was  a  special  occasion.  What  was  I,  to  stand  be 
fore  these  lovely  Christian  women  with  an  assump 
tion  of  superior  virtue,  and  a  rebuke  of  their  habits  and 
indulgences  ?  I  did  not  want  the  wine  ;  I  did  not  wish 
to  drink  again  ;  and  thus  the  fire  gradually  died  away. 
I  was  left,  however,  with  the  uncomfortable  conscious 
ness  that  I  had  in  no  degree  raised  myself  in  the  esti 
mation  of  the  family.  They  had  witnessed  the  sacrifice 
of  a  scruple  and  an  indication  of  my  weakness.  Liv 
ingston,  I  knew,  felt  sadly  about  it.  It  had  brought  me 
nothing  that  I  desired  or  expected. 

The  days  between  Christmas  and  New  Year's  were 
packed  with  a  thousand  pleasures.  A  party  was  gath 
ered  for  us  in  which  I  was  presented  to  many  beautiful 
girls  and  their  stylish  brothers.  We  visited  the  theatres, 
we  were  invited  everywhere,  and  we  often  attended  as 
many  as  two  or  three  assemblies  in  an  evening.  The  days 
and  nights  were  a  continued  round  of  social  pleasures, 
and  we  lived  in  a  whirl  of  excitement.  There  was  no 
time  for  thought,  and  with  me,  at  least,  no  desire  for  it. 

But  the  time  flew  away  until  we  waited  only  the  ex 
citements  of  New  Year's  Day  to  close  our  vacation,  and 
return  to  the  quiet  life  we  had  left  under  the  elms  of 
New  Haven.  That  day  was  a  memorable  one  to  me 
and  demands  a  chapter  for  its  record. 


Arthur  Bonnicastle.  243 


CHAPTER  XV. 

I   GO   OUT  TO   MAKE  NEW  YEAR'S   CALLS  AND  RETURN 
IN   DISGRACE. 

NEW  YEAR'S  morning  dawned  bright  and  cold.  "  A 
happy  New  Year  to  you  !  "  shouted  Livingston  from  his 
bed.  The  call  woke  me  from  a  heavy  slumber  into  de 
lightful  anticipations,  and  the  realization  of  a  great  joy 
in  living,  such  as  comes  only  to  youth — an  exulting, 
superabounding  sense  of  vitality  that  care  and  age  never 
know. 

We  rose  and  dressed  ourselves  with  scrupulous  pains 
taking  for  calls.  On  descending  to  the  breakfast-room, 
•we  found  the  young  ladies  quite  as  excited  as  ourselves. 
They  had  prepared  a  little  book  in  which  to  keep  a  rec 
ord  of  the  calls  they  expected  to  receive  during  the 
day,  for,  according  to  the  universal  custom,  they  were  to 
keep  open  house.  The  carriage  was  to  be  at  the  dispo 
sal  of  my  friend  and  myself,  and  we  were  as  ambitious 
concerning  the  amount  of  courtesy  to  be  shown  as  the 
young  ladies  were  touching  the  amount  to  be  received. 
We  intended,  before  bedtime,  to  present  our  New  Year's 
greetings  to  every  lady  we  had  met  during  the  week. 

Before  we  left  the  house,  I  saw  what  preparations  had 
been  made  for  the  hospitable  reception  of  visitors. 
Among  them  stood  a  row  of  wine  bottles  and  decanters. 
The  view  saddened  me.  Although  I  had  not  tasted  wine 
since  "  the  special  occasion,"  my  conscience  had  not 
ceased  to  remind  me,  though  with  weakened  sting,  that 
I  had  sacrificed  a  conscientious  scruple  and  broken  a 
promise.  I  could  in  no  way  rid  myself  of  the  sense  of 
having  been  wounded,  stained,  impoverished.  I  had 
ceased  to  be  what  I  had  been.  I  had  engaged  in  no  de 
bauch,  I  had  developed  no  appetite,  I  was  not  in  love 


244  Arthur  Bonnicastle. 

with  my  sin.  I  could  have  heartily  wished  that  wine  wer« 
out  of  the  world.  Yet  I  had  consented  to  have  my  de 
fences  broken  into,  and  there  had  been  neither  time  nor 
practical  disposition  to  repair  the  breach.  Not  one  prayer 
had  I  offered,  or  dared  to  offer,  during  the  week.  My 
foolish  act  had  shut  out  God  and  extinguished  the  sense 
of  his  loving  favor,  and  I  had  rushed  blindly  through  my 
pleasures  from  day  to  day,  refusing  to  listen  to  the  up- 
braidings  of  that  faithful  monitor  which  he  had  placed 
within  me. 

At  last,  it  was  declared  not  too  early  to  begin  our 
visits.  Already  several  young  gentlemen  had  shown 
themselves  at  the  Livingstons,  and  my  friend  and  I  sal 
lied  forth.  The  coachman,  waiting  at  the  door,  and 
thrashing  his  hands  to  keep  them  warm,  wished  us  "  a 
happy  New  Year  "  as  we  appeared. 

"The  same  to  you,"  responded  Livingston,  "and 
there'll  be  another  one  to-night,  if  you  serve  us  well  to 
day." 

"  Thankee,  sir, "said  the  coachman,  smiling  in  antici 
pation  of  the  promised  fee. 

The  footman  took  the  list  of  calls  to  be  made  that  Liv 
ingston  had  prepared,  mounted  to  his  seat,  the  ladies 
waved  their  hands  to  us  from  the  window,  and  we  drove 
rapidly  away. 

"  Bonnicastle,  my  boy,"  said  Livingston,  throwing  his 
arm  around  me  as  we  rattled  up  the  avenue,  "  this  is 
new  business  to  you.  Now  don't  do  anything  to-day  that 
you  will  be  sorry  for.  Do  you  know,  I  cannot  like  what 
has  happened?  You  have  not  been  brought  up  like  the 
rest  of  us ,  and  you're  all  right.  Have  your  own  way. 
It's  nobody's  business." 

I  knew,  of  course,  exactly  what  he  meant,  but  I  do  not 
know  what  devil  stirred  within  me  the  spirit  of  resent 
ment.  To  be  cautioned  an:l  counselled  by  one  who  had 
never  professed  or  manifested  any  sense  of  religious  ob- 


Arthur  Bonnicastle.  245 

ligation — by  one  above  whose  moral  plane  I  had  fancied 
that  I  stood — made  me  half  angry.  I  had  consciously 
fallen,  and  I  felt  miserably  enough  about  it,  when  I  per 
mitted  myself  to  feel  at  all,  but  to  be  reminded  of  it  by 
others  vexed  me  to  the  quick,  and  rasped  my  wretched 
pride. 

"Take  care  of  yourself,"  I  responded,  sharply,  "and 
don't  worry  about  me.  I  shall  do  as  I  please." 

"  It's  the  last  time,  old  boy,"  said  Livingston,  biting 
his  lip,  which  quivered  with  pain  and  mortification. 
"  It's  the  last  time.  When  I  kiss  a  fellow  and  he  spits 
in  my  face  I  never  do  it  again.  Make  yourself  perfectly 
easy  on  that  score." 

Impulsively  I  grasped  his  hand  and  exclaimed  :  "Oh! 
don't  say  that.  I  beg  your  pardon.  Let's  not  quarrel : 
I  was  a  fool  and  a  great  deal  worse,  to  answer  as  I  did." 

"  All  right,"  said  he  ;  "  but  if  you  get  into  trouble, 
don't  blame  me ;  that's  all." 

At  this,  we  drew  up  to  a  house  to  make  our  first  call. 
It  was  a  grand  establishment.  The  ladies  were  beautifully 
dressed,  and  very  cordial,  for  Livingston  was  a  favorite, 
and  any  young  man  whom  he  introduced  was  sure  of  a 
welcome.  I  was  flattered  and  excited  by  the  attention  I 
received,  and  charmed  by  the  graceful  manners  of  those 
who  rendered  it.  House  after  house  we  visited  in  the 
same  way,  uniformly  declining  all  the  hospitalities  of  the 
table,  on  the  ground  that  it  was  too  early  to  think  of  eat 
ing  or  drinking. 

At  last  we  began  to  grow  hungry  for  our  lunch,  and  at 
a  bountifully  loaded  table  accepted  an  invitation  to  eat. 
Several  young  fellows  were  standing  around  it,  nibbling 
their  sandwiches,  and  sipping  their  wine.  A  glass  was 
poured  and  handed  tome  by  a  young  lady  with  the  toilet 
and  manner  of  a  princess.  I  took  it  without  looking  at 
Livingston,  held  it  for  a  while,  then  tasted  it,  for  I  was 
thirsty  •  then  tasted  again  and  again,  until  my  glass  was 


246  Arthur  Bonnicastle. 

empty.  I  was  as  unused  to  the  stimulant  as  a  child  \ 
and  when  I  emerged  into  the  open  air  my  face  was  aflame 
with  its  exciting  poison.  There  was  a  troubled  look  on 
Livingston's  face,  and  I  rould  not  resist  the  feeling  that 
he  was  either  angry  or  alarmed.  My  first  experience 
was  that  of  depression.  This  was  partly  moral,  I  sup 
pose  ;  but  the  sharp  air  soon  reduced  the  feverish  sen 
sation  about  my  head  and  eyes,  and  then  a  strange  thrill 
ol  exhilaration  passed  through  me.  It  was  different  from 
anything  I  had  ever  known,  and  I  was  conscious,  for  the 
first  time,  of  the  charm  of  alcohol. 

Then  came  the  longing  to  taste  again.  I  saw  that  I 
was  in  no  way  disabled.  On  the  contrary,  I  knew  I  had 
never  been  so  buoyant  in  spirits,  or  so  brilliant  in  con 
versation.  My  imagination  was  excited.  Everything 
presented  to  me  its  comical  aspects,  and  there  were  rip 
ples  and  roars  of  laughter  wherever  I  went.  After  re 
peated  glasses,  I  swallowed  at  one  house  a  draught  of 
champagne.  It  was  the  first  I  had  ever  tasted,  and  the 
cold,  tingling  fluid  was  all  that  was  necessary  to  make 
me  noisy  and  hilarious.  I  rallied  Livingston  on  his  long 
face,  assured  him  that  I  had  never  seen  a  jolly  fellow 
alter  so  rapidly  as  he  had  since  morning,  begged  him  to 
take  someching  that  would  warm  him,  and  began  to  sing. 

"  Now,  really  you  must  be  quiet  in  this  house,"  said 
he,  as  we  drew  up  to  an  old-fashioned  mansion  in  the 
suburbs.  "They  are  quiet  people  here,  and  are  not 
used  to  noisy  fellows." 

"  I'll  wake  'em  up,"  said  I,  "  and  make  'em  jolly." 

We  entered  the  door.  I  was  conscious  of  a  singing  in 
my  ears,  and  a  sense  of  confusion.  The  warm  air  of  the 
room  wrought  in  a  few  moments  a  change  in  my  feelings, 
but  I  struggled  against  it,  and  tried  with  pitiful  efforts 
to  command  myself,  and  to  appear  the  sober  man  I  was 
not.  There  was  a  little  group  around  us  near  the  win 
dows,  and  at  the  other  end  of  the  drawing-room — some- 


Arthur  Donnicastle.  247 

what  in  shadow,  for  it  was  nearly  night — there  was  an 
other.  At  length  a  tall  man  rose  from  this  latter  group, 
and  advanced  toward  the  light.  Immediately  behind 
him  a  young  girl,  almost  a  woman  in  stature  and  bear 
ing,  followed.  The  moment  I  could  distinguish  his  form 
and  features  and  those  of  his  companion,  I  rushed  to 
ward  them,  forgetful  for  the  instant  that  I  had  lost  my 
self-control,  and  embraced  them  both.  Then  I  under 
took  to  present  Mr.  Bradford  and  my  friend  Millie  to 
Livingston. 

It  did  not  seem  strange  to  me  to  find  them  in  New 
York.  What  foolish  things  I  said  to  Mr.  Bradford  and 
what  maudlin  words  to  Millie  I  do  not  know.  Both  car 
ried  grave  faces.  Millie's  eyes — for  even  through  all 
that  cloud  of  stupid  insanity,  from  this  far  point  of  dis 
tance  I  see  them  still — burned  first  like  fire,  then  filled 
with  tears. 

For  what  passed  immediately  after  this,  I  am  indebted 
to  another  memory  and  not  to  my  own. 

After  watching  me  and  listening  to  me  for  a  minute 
in  silence,  Millie  darted  to  the  side  of  Livingston,  and 
looking  him  fiercely  in  the  face,  exclaimed  :  "  You  are 
a  wicked  man.  You  ought  to  be  ashamed  to  let  him  do 
it.  Oh !  he  was  so  good  and  so  sweet  when  he  went 
away  from  Bradford,  and  you  have  spoiled  him — you 
have  spoiled  him.  I'll  never  forgive  you,  never  ! " 

"  Millie  !  my  daughter  !  "  exclaimed  Mr.  Bradford. 

Millie  threw  herself  upon  a  sofa,  and  burying  her  head 
i.n  the  pillow,  burst  into  hysterical  tears. 

Livingston  turned  to  Mr.  Bradford  and  said  :  "  I  give 
you  my  word  of  honor,  sir,  that  I  have  not  drunk  one 
drop  of  wine  to-day.  I  have  refrained  from  drinking 
entirely  for  his  sake,  and  your  daughter's  accusation  is 
most  unjust." 

Mr.  Bradford  took  the  young  man's  hand  cordially 
and  said  :  "  I  believe  you,  and  you  must  pardon  Millie. 


248  Arthur  Bonnicastle. 

She  is  terribly  disappointed,  and  so  am  I.  She  sup 
posed  her  friend  had  been  tempted  by  bad  companions, 
and  as  you  were  with  him,  she  at  once  attributed  the 
evil  influence  to  you." 

"  On  the  contrary,"  responded  Livingston,  "  no  man 
has  tempted  him  at  all,  and  no  man  could  tempt  him. 
None  but  women  who  prate  about  their  sufferings  from 
drunken  husbands  and  brothers  could  have  moved  him 
from  his  determination.  I  am  ashamed  to  tell  you  who 
attacked  his  scruples  first.  It  was  one  who  has  reason 
enough,  Heaven  knows,  to  hate  wine  ;  but  her  efforts 
have  been  followed  by  scores  of  younger  women  to-day, 
who  have  seemed  to  take  delight  in  leading  him  into  a 
mad  debauch." 

Livingston  spoke  bitterly,  and  as  he  closed,  Millie 
sprang  from  the  sofa,  and  seizing  his  hand,  kissed  it, 
and  wet  it  with  her  tears. 

"  Please  take  him  home,  and  be  kind  to  him,"  she 
said.  "  I  am  sure  he  will  never  do  it  again." 

In  the  meantime,  entirely  overcome  by  the  heat  of 
the  room,  acting  upon  nerves  which  had  been  stimulated 
beyond  the  power  of  endurance,  I  had  sunk  helplessly 
into  a  chair,  where  I  stared  stupidly  upon  the  group,  un 
able  to  comprehend  a  word  of  the  conversation. 

Mr.  Bradford  took  Livingston  aside,  and  after  some 
words  of  private  conversation,  both  approached  me,  and 
taking  me  by  my  arms,  led  me  from  the  house,  and 
placed  me  in  the  carriage.  The  dusk  had  already  de 
scended,  and  I  do  not  think  that  I  was  observed,  save 
by  one  or  two  strangers  passing  upon  the  sidewalk. 
The  seal  of  secrecy  was  placed  upon  the  lips  of  the 
household  by  the  kind  offices  of  Mr.  Bradford,  and  the 
story,  so  far  as  I  know,  was  never  told,  save  as  it  was 
afterward  told  to  me,  and  as  I  have  told  it  in  these 
pages. 

The    carriage  was   driven   rapidly  homeward.      Tha 


Arthur  Bonnicastle.  249 

house  of  the  Livingstons  was  upon  a  corner,  so  that  a 
side  entrance  was  available  for  getting  me  to  my  room 
without  public  observation.  The  strong  arms  of  Living 
ston  and  the  footman  bore  me  to  my  chamber,  removed 
my  clothing,  and  placed  me  in  bed,  where  I  sank  at 
once  into  that  heavy  drunken  slumber  from  which  there 
is  no  waking  except  that  of  torture. 

The  morning  after  New  Year's  was  as  bright  as  that 
which  preceded  it,  but  it  had  no  brightness  for  me.  The 
heart  which  had  leaped  up  into  gladness  as  it  greeted 
the  New  Year's  dawn,  was  a  lump  of  lead.  The  head 
that  was  as  clear  as  the  sky  itself  on  the  previous  morn 
ing,  was  dull  and  heavy  with  a  strange,  throbbing  pain. 
My  mouth  was  dry  and  hot,  and  a  languor  held  me  in 
possession  from  which  it  seemed  impossible  to  rouse 
myself.  Then  all  the  mad  doings  of  the  day  which  had 
witnessed  my  fall  came  back  to  me,  and  it  seemed  as  if 
the  shame  of  it  all  would  kill  me.  Livingston  brought 
me  some  cooling  and  corrective  draught,  on  the  strength 
of  which  I  rose.  The  dizzy  feeling  was  not  entirely  gone, 
and  I  reeled  in  a  pitiful  way  while  dressing ;  but  cold 
water,  a  cool  room,  and  motion,  soon  placed  me  in  pos 
session  of  myself. 

"  I  can't  go  down  to  breakfast,  Livingston,"  I  said. 
"  I  have  disgraced  you  and  all  the  family." 

"  Oh!  women  forgive,  my  boy,"  said  he,  with  a  con 
temptuous  shrug.  "  Never  you  mind.  If  they  don't 
like  their  own  work,  let  them  do  it  better." 

"  But  I  can't  face  them,"  I  said. 

"  Face  them!  Bah!  it's  they  who  are  to  face  you. 
But  don't  trouble  yourself.  You'll  find  them  as  placid 
as  a  summer  morning,  ignoring  everything.  They're 
used  to  it." 

He  insisted,  and  I  descended  to  the  breakfast-room. 
Not  an  allusion  was  made  to  the  previous  day's  experi 
ences,  except  as  a  round  of  unalloyed  pleasure.  The 


250  Arthur  Bonnicastle. 

young  ladies  had  received  an  enormous  number  of  calls, 
and  on  the  sideboard  stood  a  row  of  empty  decanters. 
There  was  no  thought  of  the  headaches  and  heart-burn 
ings  with  which  the  city  abounded,  no  thought  of  suici 
dal  habits  begun  or  confirmed  through  their  agency,  no 
thought  of  the  drunkards  they  were  nursing  into  hus« 
bands.  There  sat  the  mother  in  her  matronly  dig 
nity,  dispensing  her  fragrant  coffee,  there  were  the 
young  ladies  chattering  over  their  list,  and  talking  of 
this  one  and  that  one  of  their  callers,  and  there  was  I,  a 
confused  ruin  of  hopes  and  purposes  which  clustered 
around  a  single  central  point  of  consciousness  and  that 
point  hot  with  shame  and  remorse. 

We  were  to  return  on  the  afternoon  boat  that  day, 
and  I  was  not  sorry.  I  was  quite  ready  to  turn  my  back 
on  all  the  splendors  that  had  so  charmed  me  on  my  ar 
rival,  on  all  the  new  acquaintances  I  had  made,  and  on 
my  temptations. 

Special  efforts  were  made  by  Mrs.  Livingston  and  her 
daughters  to  reinstate  me  in  my  self-respect.  They 
were  cordial  in  their  expressions  of  friendship,  begged 
that  I  would  not  forget  them,  invited  me  to  visit  them 
again  and  often,  and  loaded  me  with  all  courteous  and 
friendly  attentions.  Livingston  was  quiet  and  cold 
through  it  all.  He  had  intended  to  return  me  as  good 
as  he  brought  me,  and  had  failed.  He  was  my  senior, 
arid  had  entertained  a  genuine  respect  for  my  conscien 
tious  scruples,  over  which,  from  the  first  moment  I  had 
known  him,  he  had  assumed  a  sort  of  guardianship.  He 
was  high-spirited,  and  as  I  had  once  repelled  his  cau 
tioning  care,  I  knew  I  should  hear  no  more  from  him. 

When  we  arrived  at  the  boat,  I  went  at  once  into  the 
cabin,  sank  into  a  chair,  buried  my  face  in  my  hands, 
and  gave  myself  up  to  my  sorrow  and  shame.  I  was 
glad  that  I  should  not  find  Henry  in  my  room  on  my  re 
turn.  He  had  been  gone  a  month  when  I  left,  for, 


Arthiir  Bonnicastle.  251 

through  the  necessities  of  self-support,  he  had  resumed 
his  school  duties  in  Bradford  for  the  winter.  I  thought 
of  him  in  his  daily  work,  and  his  nightly  visits  at  my 
father's  house  ;  of  the  long  conversations  that  would 
pass  between  him  and  those  whom  I  loved  best  about 
one  who  had  proved  himself  unworthy  of  their  regard  ; 
of  the  shameful  manner  in  which  I  had  betrayed  the 
confidence  of  my  benefactress,  and  the  dis'grace  which  I 
had  brought  upon  myself  in  the  eyes  of  Mr.  Bradford 
and  Millie.  It  then  occurred  to  me  for  the  first  time 
that  Mr.  Bradford  was  on  a  New  Year's  visit  to  his 
daughter,  whom  he  had  previously  placed  in  a  New 
York  school.  How  should  I  ever  meet  them  again  ? 
How  could  they  ever  forgive  me  ?  How  could  I  ever 
win  their  respect  and  confidence  again  ?  "  O  God!  O 
God!"  I  said,  in  a  whisper  of  anguish,  "how  can  I 
ever  come  to  Thee  again,  when  I  knew  in  my  inmost 
heart  that  I  was  disobeying  and  grieving  Thee  ?  " 

I  was  conscious  at  this  moment  that  steps  approached 
me.  Then  followed  a  light  touch  upon  my  shoulder.  I 
looked  up,  and  saw  Mr.  Bradford.  I  had  never  before 
seen  his  countenance  so  sad,  and  at  the  same  time  so 
severe. 

"  Don't  reproach  me,"  I  said,  lifting  my  hands  in  dep 
recation,  "  don't  reproach  me  :  if  you  do,  I  shall  die." 

"  Reproach  you,  my  boy  ?  "  he  said,  drawing  a  chair 
to  my  side  while  his  lips  quivered  with  sympathy. 
"  There  would  be  no  need  of  it  if  I  were  disposed  to  do 
so.  Reproach  for  error  between  erring  mortals  is  not 
becoming." 

"  Do  you  suppose  you  can  ever  forgive  me  and  trust 
me  again  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  I  forgive  you  and  trust  you  now.  I  give  you  credit 
for  common-sense.  You  have  proved,  in  your  own  ex 
perience,  the  truth  of  all  I  have  told  you,  and  I  do  not 
believe  that  you  need  to  learn  anything  further,  except 


252  Arthur  Bonnicastle. 

that  one  mistake  and  misstep  like  yours  need  not  ruin  a 
life." 

"  Do  you  really  think,"  said  I,  eagerly  grasping  his 
arm,  "  that  I  can  ever  be  again  what  I  have  been  ?  " 

"  Never  again,"  he  replied,  sadly  shaking  his  head. 
"  The  bloom  is  gone  from  the  fruit,  but  if  you  hate  yout 
folly  with  a  hatred  which  will  forever  banish  it  from  your 
life,  the  fruit  is  uninjured." 

"  And  are  they  to  know  all  this  in  Bradford  ?  "  I 
asked. 

"  Never  from  me,"  he  replied. 

"  You  are  too  kind  to  me,"  I  said.  "  You  have  al 
ways  been  kind." 

"  I  don't  know.  I  have  intended  to  be  kind,  but  if 
you  are  ruined  through  the  influence  of  Mrs.  Sander 
son's  money  I  shall  curse  the  clay  on  which  I  suggested 
the  thought  that  brought  you  under  her  patronage." 

"  Will  you  accept  a  pledge  from  me,"  I  said  eagerly, 
<l  in  regard  to  the  future  ?  " 

"  No  indeed,  Arthur.  No  pledge  coming  from  you  to 
day,  while  you  are  half  beside  yourself  with  shame  and 
sorrow,  would  have  the  value  of  a  straw.  A  promise  can 
never  redeem  a  man  who  loses  himself  through  lack  of 
strength  and  principle.  A  man  who  cannot  be  con 
trolled  by  God's  Word  certainly  cannot  be  controlled 
by  his  own.  It  will  take  weeks  for  you  to  arrive  at  a 
point  where  you  can  form  a  resolution  that  will  be  of 
the  slightest  value,  and,  when  you  reach  that  point,  no 
resolution  will  be  needed.  Some  influence  has  changed 
your  views  of  life  and  your  objects.  You  have  in  some 
way  been  shaken  at  your  foundations.  When  these  be 
come  sound  again,  you  will  be  restored  to  yourself,  and 
not  until  then.  You  fancied  that  the  religious  influences 
and  experiences  which  we  both  remember  had  done 
much  to  strengthen  you,  out  in  truth  they  did  nothing. 
They  interrupted,  and,  for  the  time,  ruined  the  processes 


Arthur  Bonnicastlc.  253 

of  a  religious  education.  You  fancied  that  in  a  day  you 
had  built  what  it  takes  a  lifetime  to  build,  and  you  were, 
owing  to  the  reactions  of  that  great  excitement,  and  to 
the  confusion  into  which  your  thoughts  and  feelings  were 
thrown,  weaker  to  resist  temptation  than  when  you  re 
turned  from  The  Bird's  Nest.  I  saw  it  all  then,  just  as 
plainly  as  I  see  it  now.  I  have  discounted  all  this  ex 
perience  of  yours — not  precisely  this,  but  something  like 
it.  I  knew  you  would  be  tempted,  and  that  into  the 
joints  of  a  harness  too  loosely  knit  and  fastened  some 
arrow  would  find  its  way." 

"  What  am  I  to  do  ?  What  can  I  do?  "  I  said  pite- 
ously. 

"  Become  a  child  again,"  he  responded.  "  Go  back 
to  the  simple  faith  and  the  simple  obedience  which  you 
learned  of  your  father.  Put  away  your  pride  and  your 
love  of  that  which  enervates  and  emasculates  you,  and 
try  with  God's  help  to  grow  into  a  true  man.  I  have 
had  so  many  weaknesses  and  faults  of  my  own  to  look 
after,  that  I  have  never  had  the  heart  to  undertake  the 
instruction  of  others  ;  but  I  feel  a  degree  of  responsibil 
ity  for  you,  and  I  know  it  is  in  you  to  become  a  man 
who  will  bring  joy  to  your  father  and  pride  to  me." 

"Oh!  do  believe  me,  Mr.  Bradford,  do,"  I  said, 
"  when  I  tell  you  that  I  will  try  to  become  the  man  you 
desire  me  to  be." 

"  I  believe  you,"  he  responded.  "  I  have  no  doubt 
that  you  will  try,  in  a  weaker  or  stronger  way  and  more 
or  less  persistently,  to  restore  yourself  tc  your  old  foot 
ing.  And  now,  as  you  have  forced  a  promise  upon  me, 
which  I  did  not  wish  you  to  make,  you  must  accept  one 
from  me.  I  have  taken  you  into  my  heart.  I  took  you 
into  its  warmest  place  when,  years  ago,  on  our  first  ac 
quaintance,  you  told  me  that  you  loved  me.  And  now 
I  promise  you  that  if  I  see  that  you  cannot  be  what  yoi1 
ought  to  be  while  retaining  your  present  prospects  c,< ' 


254  Arthur  Bonnicastle. 

wealth,  I  will  put  you  to  such  a  test  as  will  prove  whether 
you  have  the  manhood  in  you  that  I  have  given  you  the 
credit  for,  and  whether  you  are  worth  saving  to  yourself 
and  your  friends." 

His  last  words  wounded  me.  Nay,  they  did  more — • 
they  kindled  my  anger.  Though  grievously  humiliated, 
my  pride  was  not  dead.  I  questioned  in  my  heart  his 
right  to  speak  so  strongly  to  me,  and  to  declare  his  pur 
pose  to  thrust  himself  into  my  life  in  any  contingency, 
but  I  covered  my  feelings,  and  even  thanked  him  in  a 
feeble  way  for  his  frankness.  Then  I  inquired  about 
Henry,  and  learned  in  what  high  respect  he  was  held  in 
Bradford,  how  much  my  father  and  all  his  acquaintances 
were  delighted  in  him,  and  how  prosperously  his  affairs 
were  going  on.  Even  in  his  self-respectful  poverty,  I 
envied  him— a  poverty  through  which  he  had  manifested 
such  sterling  manhood  as  to  win  the  hearts  of  all  who 
came  in  contact  with  him. 

"  I  shall  miss  him  more  than  I  can  tell  you,"  I  said, 
"  when  I  get  back  to  my  lonely  room.  No  one  can  take 
his  place,  and  I  need  him  now  more  than  I  ever  did  be 
fore." 

"It  is  as  well  for  you  to  be  alone,"  said  Mr.  Bradford, 
"if  you  are  in  earnest.  There  are  some  things  in  life 
that  can  only  be  wrought  out  between  a  man  and  his 
God,  and  you  have  just  that  thing  in  hand." 

Our  conversation  was  long,  and  touched  many  topics. 
Mr.  Bradford  shook  my  hand  heartily  as  we  parted  at 
the  wharf,  and  Livingston  and  I  were  soon  in  a  carriage* 
whirling  toward  the  town.  I  entered  my  silent  room 
with  a  sick  and  discouraged  feeling,  with  a  sad  presenti 
ment  of  the  struggle  which  its  walls  would  witness  dur 
ing  the  long  winter  months  before  me,  and  with  a  ter 
rible  sense  of  the  change  through  which  I  had  passed 
during  the  brief  week  of  my  absence. 

An4  here,  lesf  my  reader  be  afflicted  with  useless  an- 


Arthur  Bonnicastle.  255 

ticipations  of  pain,  I  record  the  fact  that  wine  nevei 
tempted  me  again.  One  bite  of  the  viper  had  sufficed. 
I  had  trampled  upon  my  conscience,  and  even  that  had 
changed  to  a  viper  beneath  my  feet,  and  struck  its  fangs 
deep  into  the  recoiling  flesh.  From  that  day  forward  I 
forswore  the  indulgence  of  the  cup.  While  in  college  it 
was  comparatively  easy  to  do  this,  for  my  habit  wa? 
known,  and  as  no  one  but  Livingston  knew  of  my  fall,  it 
was  respected.  I  was  rallied  by  some  of  the  fellows  on 
my  sleepy  eyes  and  haggard  looks,  but  none  of  them  im 
agined  the  cause,  and  the  storm  that  had  threatened  to 
engulf  me  blew  over,  and  the  waves  around  me  grew 
calm  again — the  waves  around  me,  but  not  the  waves 
within. 

For  a  whole  week  after  I  returned,  I  was  in  constant 
and  almost  unendurable  torture.  The  fear  of  discovery 
took  possession  of  me.  What  if  the  men  who  were  pass 
ing  at  the  time  Mr.  Bradford  and  Livingston  lifted  me 
into  the  carriage  had  known  me  ?  Was  -Peter  Mullens 
in  New  York  that  night,  and  was  he  one  of  them  ?  This 
question  no  sooner  took  possession  of  my  mind,  than  I 
fancied,  from  the  looks  and  whisperings  of  him  and  his 
companions,  that  the  secret  was  in  their  possession.  I 
had  no  peace  from  these  suspicions  until  I  had  satis 
fied  myself  that  he  had  not  left  the  college  during  the 
holidays.  Would  Mr.  Bradford,  by  some  accident,  or 
through  forgetfulness  of  his  promise  to  me,  speak  of  the 
matter  to  my  father,  or  Henry,  or  Mrs.  Sanderson  ? 
Would  Millie  write  about  it  to  her  mother  ?  Would  it 
be  carelessly  talked  about  by  the  ladies  who  had  wit 
nessed  my  disgrace  ?  Would  it  be  possible  for  me  ever 
to  show  myself  in  Bradford  again  ?  Would  the  church 
learn  of  my  lapse  and  bring  me  under  its  discipline  ? 
Would  the  religious  congregations  I  had  addressed  hear 
of  my  fall  from  sobriety,  and  come  to  regard  me  as  a 
hypocrite  ?  So  sore  was  my  self-love,  so  sensitive  was 


256  Arthur  Bonnicastle. 

my  pride,  that  I  am  sure  I  should  have  lied  to  cover  mj 
shame,  had  the  terrible  emergency  arisen.  It  did  not 
rise,  and  for  that  I  cannot  cease  to  be  grateful. 

It  will  readily  be  seen  that,  while  the  fear  of  discovery 
was  upon  me,  and  while  I  lived  a  false  life  of  careless 
ness  and  even  gayety  among  my  companions,  to 'cover 
the  tumults  of  dread  and  suspicion  that  were  going  on 
within  me,  I  did  not  make  much  progress  in  spiritual 
life.  In  truth  I  made  none  at  all.  My  prayers  were 
only  wild  beseechings  that  I  might  be  spared  from  ex 
posure,  and  pledges  of  future  obedience  should  my  pray 
ers  be  answered.  So  thoroughly  did  my  fears  of  men 
possess  me,  that  there  was  no  room  for  repentance  to 
ward  God,  or  such  a  repentance  as  would  give  me  the 
basis  of  a  new  departure  and  a  better  life.  I  had  al 
ready  tried  to  live  two  lives  that  should  not  be  discord 
ant  with  each  other ;  now  I  tried  to  live  two  lives  that  I 
knew  to  be  antagonistic.  It  now  became  an  object  to 
appear  to  be  what  I  was  not.  I  resumed  at  intervals  my 
attendance  upon  the  prayer-meetings  to  make  it  appear 
that  I  still  clung  to  my  religious  life.  Then,  while  in  the 
society  of  my  companions,  I  manifested  a  careless  gay- 
=ty  which  I  did  not  feel.  All  the  manifestations  of  my 
real  life  took  place  in  the  solitude  of  my  room.  There, 
wrestling  with  my  fears,  and  shut  out  from  my  old 
sources  of  comfort  and  strength,  I  passed  my  nights. 
With  a  thousand  luxurious  appliances  around  me,  no 
sense  of  luxury  ever  came  to  me.  My  heart  was  a  cen^ 
tral  living  coal,  and  all  around  it  was  ashes.  I  even 
feared  that  the  coal  might  die,  and  that  Henry,  when  he 
should  return,  would  find  his  room  bereft  of  all  that 
would  give  him  welcome  and  cheer. 

As  the  weeks  passed  away,  the  fear  slowly  expired, 
and  alas  !  nothing  that  was  better  came  in  its  place.  No 
sooner  did  I  begin  to  experience  the  sense  of  safety  from 
exposure,  and  from  the  temptation  which  had 


Arthur  Bonnicastle.  257 

me  such  grievous  harm,  than  the  old  love  of  luxurious 
life,  and  the  old  plans  for  securing  it,  came  back  to  me. 
I  felt  sure  that  wine  would  never  tempt  me  again,  and 
with  this  confidence  I  built  me  a  foundation  of  pride  and 
self-righteousness  on  which  I  could  stand,  and  regard 
myself  with  a  certain  degree  of  complacency. 

As  for  efficient  study,  that  was  out  of  the  question.  I 
was  in  no  mood  or  condition  for  work.  I  scrambled 
through  my  lessons  in  a  disgraceful  way.  The  better 
class  of  students  were  all  surpassing  me,  and  I  found 
myself  getting  hopelessly  into  the  rear.  I  had  fitful  re 
bellions  against  this,  and  showed  them  and  myself  what 
I  could  do  when  I  earnestly  tried  :  but  the  power  of 
persistence,  which  is  born  of  a  worthy  purpose,  held 
strongly  in  the  soul,  was  absent,  and  there  could  be  no 
true  advancement  without  it. 

I  blush  with  shame,  even  now,  to  think  how  I  tried  to 
cover  my  delinquencies  from  my  father  and  Mrs.  Sander 
son,  by  becoming  more  attentive  to  them  than  I  had  ever 
been  in  the  matter  of  writing  letters.  I  knew  that  there 
was  nothing  that  carried  so  much  joy  to  my  father  as  a 
letter  from  me.  I  knew  that  he  read  every  letter  1 
wrote  him,  again  and  again— that  he  carried  it  in  his 
pocket  at  his  work — that  he  took  it  out  at  meals,  and 
talked  about  it.  I  knew  also  that  Mrs.  Sanderson's  life 
was  always  gladdened  by  attentions  of  this  sort  from  me, 
and  that  they  tended  to  keep  her  heart  open  toward  me. 
In  just  the  degree  in  which  I  was  conscious  that  I  was 
unworthy  of  their  affection,  did  I  strive  to  present  to 
them  my  most  amiable  side,  and  to  convince  them  that 
I  was  unchanged. 

I  lived  this  hypocritical,  unfruitful  life  during  all  that 
winter;  and  when  Henry  came  to  me  in  the  spring, 
crowned  with  the  fruits  of  his  labor,  and  fresh  from  the 
loves  and  friendships  of  his  Bradford  home,  with  his 
studies  all  in  hand,  and  with  such  evident  growth  of 


258  Arthur  Bonnicastle. 

manhood  that  I  felt  almost  afraid  of  him,  he  found  me 
an  unhappy  and  almost  reckless  laggard,  with  nothing  to 
show  for  the  winter's  privileges  but  a  weakened  will,  dis 
sipated  powers,  frivolous  habits,  deadened  moral  and 
religious  sensibilities,  and  a  life  that  had  degenerated 
into  subterfuge  and  sham. 

'  My  natural  love  of  approbation — the  same  greed  for 
the  good  opinion  and  the  praise  of  others  which  in  my 
childhood  made  me  a  liar — had  lost  none  of  its  force, 
and  did  much  to  shape  my  intercourse  with  all  around 
me.  The  sense  of  worthlessness  which  induced  my  spe 
cial  efforts  to  retain  the  good-will  of  Mrs.  Sanderson, 
and  the  admiration  and  confidence  of  my  father,  moved 
me  to  a  new  endeavor  to  gain  the  friendship  of  all  my 
fellow-students.  I  felt  that  I  could  not  afford  to  have 
enemies.  I  had  lost  none  of  my  popularity  with  the  ex 
clusive  clique  to  which  I  had  attached  myself,  for  even 
Livingston  had  seen  with  delight  that  I  was  not  disposed 
to  repeat  the  mistake  of  which  he  had  been  so  distressed 
a  witness.  I  grew  more  courteous  and  complaisant  to 
ward  those  I  had  regarded  as  socially  my  inferiors,  until 
I  knew  that  I  was  looked  upon  by  them  as  a  good  fellow. 
I  was  easy-tempered,  ready  at  repartee,  generous  and 
careless,  and  although  I  had  lost  all  reputation  for  in 
dustry  and  scholarship,  I  possessed  just  the  character 
and  manners  which  made  me  welcome  to  every  group. 
I  blush  while  I  write  of  it,  to  remember  how  I  curried 
favor  with  Mr.  Peter  Mullens  and  his  set ;  but  to  such 
mean  shifts  did  a  mean  life  force  me.  To  keep  the 
bark  of  my  popularity  from  foundering,  on  which  I  was 
obliged  to  trust  everything,  I  tossed  overboard  from 
time  to  time,  to  meet  every  rising  necessity,  my  self-re 
spect,  until  I  had  but  little  left. 


Arthur  Bonnicastle.  259 


CHAPTER   XVI. 

PETER  MULLENS  ACQUIRES  A  VERY  LARGE  STOCK  OP 
OLD  CLOTHES. 

THOUGH  Mr.  Peter  Mullens  had  but  slender  relations 
to  my  outer  life — hardly  enough  to  warrant  the  notice  I 
have  already  taken  of  him— there  was  a  relation  which  I 
recognized  in  my  experience  and  circumstances  that 
makes  it  necessary  for  me  to  say  more  of  him.  He  had 
recognized  this  relation  himself,  and  it  was  this  that  en 
gendered  my  intense  personal  dislike  of  him.  I  knew  that 
his  willing  dependence  on  others  had  robbed  him  of  any 
flavor  of  manhood  he  might  at  one  time  have  possessed, 
and  that  I,  very  differently  organized,  was  suffering  from 
the  same  cause.  I  watched  the  effect  upon  him  of  this 
demoralizing  influence,  with  almost  a  painful  curiosity. 

Having,  as  he  supposed,  given  up  himself,  he  felt  that 
he  had  a  right  to  support.  There  seemed  to  him  to  be 
no  sweetness  in  bread  that  could  be  earned.  Everything 
came  amiss  to  him  that  came  with  personal  cost.  He 
was  always  looking  for  gifts.  I  will  not  say  that  he 
prayed  for  them,  but  I  have  no  doubt  that  he  prayed, 
and  that  his  temporal  wants  mingled  in  his  petitions. 
No  gift  humiliated  him  :  he  lived  by  gifts.  His  greed 
for  these  was  pitiful,  and  often  ludicrous.  Indeed,  he 
was  the  strangest  mixture  of  piety,  avarice,  and  beggarly 
meanness  that  I  had  ever  seen. 

My  second  spring  in  college  was  verging  upon  summer. 
The  weather  was  intensely  hot,  and  all  the  fellows  had 
put  themselves  into  summer  clothing — all  but  poor  Peter 
Mullens.  He  had  come  out  of  the  winter  very  seedy, 
and  his  heavy  clothing  still  clung  to  him,  in  the  absence 
of  supplies  of  a  lighter  character.  Although  he  had  a 
great  many  pairs  of  woollen  socks  and  striped  mittens, 


260  Arthur  Bonnicastlc. 

and  a  dozen  or  two  neckties,  which  had  been  sent  to  him 
by  a  number  of  persons  to  whom  he  gave  the  indefinite 
designation  of  "  the  sisters,"  there  seemed  to  be  no  way 
by  which  he  could  transform  them  into  summer  clothing. 
He  was  really  in  a  distressed  condition,  and  "  the  sisters'" 
failed  to  meet  the  emergency. 

At  a  gathering  of  the  fellows  of  our  clique  one  night, 
his  affairs  were  brought  up  for  discussion,  and  it  was  de 
termined  that  we  should  go  through  our  respective  ward 
robes  and  weed  out  all  the  garments  which  we  did  not 
intend  to  wear  again,  and,  on  the  first  dark  night,  take 
them  to  his  room.  I  was  to  make  the  first  visit,  and  to 
be  followed  in  turn  by  the  others. 

Accordingly,  having  made  up  a  huge  bundle  of  gar 
ments  that  would  be  of  use  to  him,  provided  he  could 
wear  them — and  he  could  wear  anything,  apparently — I 
started  out  one  evening,  and  taking  it  in  my  arms,  went 
to  his  room.  This  was  located  in  a  remote  corner  of  the 
dormitory,  at  the  bottom  of  a  narrow  hall,  and  as  the 
hall  was  nearly  dark,  I  deposited  my  bundle  at  the  door 
and  knocked  for  admission. 

"  Come  in  !  "  responded  Mullens. 

I  entered,  and  by  good  fortune  found  him  alone.  He 
was  sitting  in  the  dark,  by  the  single  open  window  of 
his  room,  and  I  could  see  by  the  dim  light  that  he  was 
stripped  of  coat  and  waistcoat.  He  did  not  know  me  at 
first,  but,  rising  and  striking  a  light,  he  exclaimed : 
"  Well,  this  is  kind  of  you,  Bonnicastle.  I  was  just 
thinking  of  you." 

He  then  remembered  that  his  glasses  had  been  laid 
aside.  Putting  them  on,  he  seemed  to  regard  himself  as 
quite  presentable,  and  made  no  further  attempt  to  increase 
his  clothing.  I  looked  around  the  bare  room,  with  its 
single  table,  its  wretched  pair  of  chairs,  its  dirty  bed,  and 
its  lonely  occupant,  and  contrasting  it  with  the  cosey  apart 
ment  1  had  just  left,  my  heart  grew  full  of  pity  for  him. 


Arthur  Bonnicastle.  261 

"  So  you  were  thinking  of  me,  eh  ?"  I  said.  "  That 
•was  very  kind  of  you.  Pray,  what  were  you  thinking  ? 
Nothing  bad,  I  hope." 

"  No,  I  was  thinking  about  your  privileges.  I  was 
thinking  how  you  had  been  favored." 

It  was  strange  that  it  had  never  occurred  to  Mullens  to 
think  about  or  to  envy  those  who  held  money  by  right, 
or  by  the  power  of  earning  it.  It  was  only  the  money 
that  came  as  a  gift  that  stirred  him.  There  were  dozens 
or  hundreds  of  fellows  whose  parents  were  educating 
them,  but  these  were  never  the  subject  of  his  envious 
thoughts. 

"  Let's  not  talk  about  my  privileges,"  I  said.  "How 
are  you  getting  along  yourself  ?  " 

"I  am  really  very  hard  up,"  he  replied.  "If  the 
sisters  would  only  send  me  trousers,  and  such  things,  I 
should  be  all  right,  but  they  don't  seem  to  consider  that 
I  want  trousers  any  more  than  they  do,  confound  them." 

The  quiet  indignation  with  which  this  was  uttered 
amused  me,  and  I  laughed  outright.  But  Mullens  was 
in  sober  earnest,  and  going  to  his  closet  he  brought  forth 
at  least  a  dozen  pairs  of  thick  woolen  socks,  and  as  many 
pairs  of  striped  mittens,  and  laid  them  on  the  table. 

"  Look  at  that  pile,"  said  Mullens,  "  and  weep." 

The  comical  aspect  of  the  matter  had  really  reached 
the  poor  fellow's  apprehension,  and  he  laughed  heartily 
with  me. 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do  with  them  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  I  don't  know,"  he  replied  ;  "  I've  thought  of  an  auc 
tion.  What  do  you  say  ?  " 

"  Why  don't  you  try  to  sell  them  at  the  shops  ?  "  I  in 
quired. 

"  Let  me  alone  for  that.  I've  been  all  over  the  city 
with 'em,"  said  he.  "One  fellow  said  they  didn't  run 
even,  and  I  don't  think  they  do,  very,  that's  a  fact. 
Another  one  said  they  looked  like  the  fag-end  of  an  old 


262  Arthur  Bonnicastle. 

stock ;  and  the  last  one  I  went  to  asked  me  if  I  stoll 
them." 

"  Well,  Mullens,  the  wind  is  tempered  to  the  shorn 
lamb,"  I  said,  consolingly.  "  It's  June." 

"  But  it  don't  apply,"  said  Mullens.  "  I'm  not  shorn. 
The  trouble  is  that  I've  got  too  much  wool." 

This  was  bright  for  Mullens,  and  we  both  laughed 
again.  After  the  laugh  had  passed,  I  said :  "  I  think  I 
know  of  eight  or  ten  fellows  who  will  relieve  you  of  your 
surplus  stock,  and,  as  I  am  one  of  them,  I  propose  to 
take  a  pair  of  socks  and  a  pair  of  mittens  now. 

The  manner  of  the  man  changed  immediately.  His 
face  grew  animated,  and  his  eyes  fairly  gleamed  through 
his  spectacles.  He  jumped  to  his  feet  as  I  spoke  of  pur 
chasing,  and  exclaimed  :  "  Will  you  ?  What  will  you 
give  ?  Make  us  an  offer." 

"  Oh,  you  must  set  your  own  price,"  I  said. 

"  Well,  you  see  they  are  very  good  socks,  don't  you  ?" 
said  Mullens.  "  Now,  every  stitch  in  those  socks  and 
mittens  was  knit  upon  honor.  There  isn't  a  mercenary 
inch  of  yarn  in  'em.  Take  your  pick  of  the  mittens.  By 
the  way,  I  haven't  shown  you  my  neckties,"  and,  rush 
ing  to  his  closet,  he  brought  forth  quite  an  armful  of 
them. 

The  humble  sufferer  had  become  a  lively  peddler, 
bent  upon  driving  the  sharpest  bargain  and  selling  the 
most  goods  possible  to  a  rare  customer.  Selecting  a 
pair  of  socks,  a  pair  of  mittens,  and  a  necktie  of  a 
somewhat  soberer  hue  than  I  had  been  accustomed  to 
wear,  he  laid  them  by  themselves,  and  then,  wiping  his 
forehead  and  his  glasses  with  a  little  mop  of  a  handker 
chief,  he  put  on  a  mildly  judicial  face,  and  said  : 

"  Bonnicastle,  my  dear  friend,  I've  always  taken  a 
great  deal  of  interest  in  you  ;  and  now  you  have  it  in 
your  power  to  do  me  a  world  of  good.  Think,  just  think; 
Bonnicastle,  of  the  weary  hours  that  have  been  spent  UP 


ArtJnir  Bonnicastle.  263 

these  articles  of  apparel  by  those  of  whom  the  world  is 
not  worthy  !  Think  of  the  benevolence  that  inspired 
every  stitch.  Think  of  the — of  the — thoughts  that  have 
run  through  those  devoted  minds.  Think  of  those  sisters 
respectively  saying  to  themselves  :  '  I  know  not  whom 
1  am  laboring  for — it  may  be  for  Mullens  or  it  may  be 
for  one  more  worthy — but  for  whomsoever  it  is,  it  is  for 
one  who  will  stand  up  in  defence  of  the  truth  when  I  am 
gone.  His  feet,  bent  upon  errands  of  mercy,  will  be 
kept  comfortable  by  these  stockings.  His  hands,  carry 
ing  succor  to  the  fallen  and  consolation  to  the  afflicted, 
will  be  warmed  by  these  mittens.  These  neckties  will 
surround  the  neck — the — throat — of  one  who  will  breathe 
words  of  peace  and  good-will.'  My  dear  Bonnicastle, 
there  is  more  in  these  humble  articles  of  apparel  than 
appears  to  the  carnal  eye — much  more — incalculably 
more.  Try  to  take  it  in  when  we  come  to  the  matter  of 
price.  Try  to  take  it  all  in,  and  then  discharge  your 
duty  as  becomes  a  man  who  has  been  favored." 

"  Look  here,  Mullens,"  said  I,  "  you  are  working  on 
my  feelings,  and  the  articles  are  getting  so  expensive 
that  I  can't  buy  them." 

"  Oh,  don't  feel  that  way,"  said  he  ;  "I  only  want  to 
have  you  get  some  idea  what  there  is  in  these  things. 
Why,  there's  love,  good-will,  self-sacrifice,  devotion,  and 
woman's  tender  heart." 

"  Pity  there  couldn't  have  been  some  trousers," 
said  I. 

Mullens'  lip  quivered.  He  was  not  sure  whether  I  was 
joking  or  not,  but  he  laid  his  hand  appealingly  upon  my 
knee,  and  then  sealed  back  in  his  chair  and  wiped  his 
forehead  and  spectacles  again.  Having  made  up  my 
mind  that  Mullens  had  determined  to  raise  an  enormous 
revenue  from  his  goods,  I  was  somewhat  surprised  when 
he  said  briskly,  "  Bonnicastle,  what  do  you  say  to  a  dol 
lar  and  a  half?  That's  only  fifty  cents  an  article,  and 


264  Arthur  Bonnicastle. 

the  whole  stock  will  bring  me  only  fifteen  or  twenty  dol 
lars  at  that  price." 

"  I'll  take  them,"  said  I. 

"  Good !  "  exclaimed  Mullens,  slapping  his  knee. 
"  Who'll  have  the  next  bowl  ?  Walk  up,  gentlemen  !  " 

Mullens  had  evidently  officiated  in  an  oyster  booth  at 
militia  musters.  In  his  elated  state  of  feeling,  the  im 
pulse  to  run  into  his  old  peddler's  lingo  was  irrepressi 
ble.  I  think  he  felt  complimented  by  the  hearty  laugh 
with  which  I  greeted  his  cry. 

"  If  I'm  going  into  this  business,"  said  Mullens,  "  I 
really  must  have  some  brown  paper.  Do  you  suppose, 
Bonnicastle,  that  if  you  should  go  to  one  of  the  shops, 
and  tell  them  the  object — a  shop  kept  by  one  of  our 
friends,  you  know — one  who  has  the  cause  at  heart — he 
would  give  you  a  package  of  brown  paper  ?  I'd  go  my 
self,  but  I've  been  around  a  good  deal." 

"  Wouldn't  you  rather  have  me  buy  some  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  Why,  no  ;  it  doesn't  seem  to  be  exactly  the  thing  to 
pay  out  money  for  brown  paper,"  responded  Mullens. 

"  I'm  not  used  to  begging,"  I  said. 

"  Why,  it  isn't  begging,  Bonnicastle ;  it's  asking  for 
the  cause." 

"  You  really  must  excuse  me,  Mullens." 

"  All  right,"  said  he  ;  "  here's  an  old  newspaper  that 
will  do  for  your  package.  Now  don't  forget  to  tell  all 
your  friends  that  I  am  ready  for  'em.  Tell  'em  the 
cause  is  a  good  one — that  it  really  involves  the — the  wel 
fare  of  society.  And  tell  'era  the  things  are  dirt  cheap. 
Don't  forget  that." 

Mullens  had  become  as  cheerful  and  lively  as  a 
•cricket  ;  and  while  he  was  doing  up  my  package,  I 
opened  the  door  and  brought  in  my  bundle.  As  I  broke 
the  string  and  unfolded  the  bountiful  contents,  he  paused 
in  a  pleased  amazement,  and  then,  leaping  forward  and 
embracing  me,  exclaimed  :  "  Bonnicastle,  yo  j're  an  an 


Arthur  Bonnicastle.  265 

gel !     What  do  you  suppose  that  pile  is  worth,  now,  in 
hard  cash  ?  '' 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know  ;  it's  worth  a  good  deal  to  you,"  I 
replied. 

"And  you  really  don't  feel  it  at  all,  do  you  now? 
Own  up." 

"  No,"  I  answered,  "  not  at  all.  You  are  welcome  to 
the  whole  pile." 

"  Yes,  Bonnicastle,"  said  he,  sliding  smoothly  back 
from  the  peddler  into  the  pious  beneficiary,  "  you've 
given  out  of  your  abundance,  and  you  have  the  blessed 
satisfaction  of  feeling  that  you  have  done  your  duty.  I 
don't  receive  it  for  myself,  but  for  the  cause.  I  am  a 
poor,  unworthy  instrument.  Say,  Bonnicastle,  if  you 
should  see  some  of  these  things  on  others,  would  you 
mind  ?  " 

"  Not  in  the  least,"  I  said.  "  Do  you  propose  to 
share  your  good  fortune  with  your  friends  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Mullens,  "  I  shall  sell  these  things  to 
them,  very  reasonably  indeed.  They  shall  have  no 
cause  to  complain." 

At  this  moment  there  was  a  knock,  and  Livingston, 
with  a  grave  face,  walked  in  with  his  bundle,  and  open 
ing  it,  laid  it  upon  the  table.  Mullens  sank  into  his 
chair,  quite  overwhelmed.  "  Fellows,"  said  he,  "  this 
is  too  much.  I  can  bear  one  bundle,  but  under  two  you 
must  excuse  me  if  I  seem  to  totter." 
'  Another  and  another  followed  Livingston  into  the 
room,  and  deposited  their  burdens,  until  the  table  was 
literally  piled.  Mullens  actually  began  to  snivel. 

"  It's  a  lark,  fellows,"  said  Mullens,  from  behind  his 
handkerchief.  "It's  a  lark  :  I  know  it.  I  see  it ;  but  oh, 
fellows!  it's  a  blessed  lark — a  blessed,  blessed  lark! 
Larks  may  be  employed  to  bring  tribute  into  the  store 
house.  Larks  may  be  overruled,  and  used  as  means.  I 
know  you  are  making  fun  of  me,  but  the  cause  goes  on. 


266  Arthur  Bonnicastle. 

If  there  isn't  room  on  the  table,  put  them  on  the  floor. 
They  shall  all  be  employed.  If  I  have  ever  done  you 
injustice  in  my  thoughts,  fellows,  you  must  forgive  me. 
This  wipes  out  everything  ;  and  as  I  don't  see  any  boots 
in  your  parcels,  perhaps  you'll  be  kind  enough  to  re 
member  that  I  wear  tens,  with  a  low  instep.  Has  the 
last  man  come  ?  Is  the  cup  full  ?  What  do  you  sup 
pose  the  whole  pile  is  worth  ? " 

Mullens  ran  on  in  this  way,  muddled  by  his  unex 
pected  good  fortune  and  his  greed,  with  various  pious 
ejaculations  which,  for  very  reverence  of  the  words  he 
used,  my  pen  refuses  to  record. 

Then  it  suddenly  occurred  to  him  that  he  was  not 
making  the  most  of  his  opportunities.  Springing  to  his 
feet,  and  turning  peddler  in  an  instant,  he  said  : ."  Fel 
lows,  Bonnicastle  has  bought  a  pair  of  socks,  a  pair  of 
striped  mittens  and  a  necktie  from  my  surplus  stock. 
I've  got  enough  of  them  to  go  all  around.  What  do  you 
say  to  them  at  fifty  cents  apiece  ?  " 

"  We've  been  rather  expecting,"  said  Livingston,  with 
a  quiet  twinkle  in  his  eye,  "  that  you  would  make  us  a 
present  of  these." 

This  was  a  new  thought  to  Mullens,  and  it  sobered 
him  at  once.  "  Fellows,"  said  he,  "  you  know  my  heart  ; 
but  these  things  are  a  sacred  trust.  They  have  been  de 
voted  to  a  cause,  and  from  that  cause  I  cannot  divert 
them." 

"Oh!  of  course  not,"  said  Livingston;  "I  only 
wanted  to  test  your  faithfulness.  You're  as  sound  as  a 
nut." 

The  conversation  ended  in  a  purchase  of  the  "  surplus 
stock,"  and  then,  seeing  that  the  boys  had  not  finished 
their  fun,  and  fearing  that  it  might  run  into  some  un 
pleasant  excesses,  Livingston  and  I  retired. 

The  next  morning  our  ears  were  regaled  with  an  ac 
count  of  the  remaining  experiences  of  the  evening,  but 


Arthur  Bonnicastle,  267 

it  does  not  need  to  be  recorded  here.  It  is  sufficient  to 
say  that  before  the  company  left  his  room,  Mullens  was 
arrayed  from  head  to  foot  with  a  dress  made  up  from 
various  parcels,  and  that  in  that  dress  he  was  obliged  to 
mount  his  table  and  make  a  speech.  He  appeared,  how 
ever,  the  next  morning,  clothed  in  comfortable  garments, 
which  of  course  were  recognized  by  their  former  owners, 
and  formed  a  subject  of  merriment  among  them  We 
never  saw  them,  however,  upon  any  others  of  his  set, 
and  he  either  chose  to  cover  his  good  fortune  from  them 
by  selling  his  frippery  to  the  Hebrew  dealers  in  such 
merchandise,  or  they  refused  to  be  his  companions  in 
wearing  garments  that  were  known  in  the  college. 


CHAPTER   XVII. 

I  CHANGE  MY  RELIGIOUS  VIEWS  TO  CONFORM  WITH 
MY  MORAL  PRACTICE,  AND  AM  GRADUATED  WITH 
OUT  HONORS. 

FROM  the  first  hour  of  my  direct  violation  of  my  con 
science,  there  began,  almost  imperceptibly  at  first,  a 
change  of  my  views  of  religious  doctrine  and  obligation. 
It  was  one  of  the  necessities  of  my  position.  Retaining 
the  strict  notions  of  my  childhood  and  younger  youth,  I 
should  not  have  enjoyed  a  moment  of  peace  ;  and  my 
mind  involuntarily  went  to  work  to  reconcile  my  opin 
ions  to  my  looser  life.  It  was  necessary  to  bring  my 
convictions  and  my  conscience  into  harmony  with  my 
conduct,  else  the  warfare  within  me  would  have  been 
unendurable.  The  first  change  related  to  duty.  It 
seemed  to  me  that  God,  remembering  that  I  was  dust, 
and  that  I  was  peculiarly  weak  under  specific  tempta 
tions,  would  be  less  rigid  in  his  requirements  oi  me  than 


268  ArtJiur  Bonnicastle. 

I  had  formerly  supposed.  As  this  conclusion  seemed  ti| 
make  him  more  lovable  to  me,  I  permitted  it  to  deceive 
me  wholly.  Then  there  was  something  which  flattered 
me  in  being  considered  less  "  blue"  than  the  majority 
of  those  who  made  a  profession  of  religion.  It  was 
pleasant  to  be  liberal,  for  liberality  carried  no  condem 
nation  with  it  of  the  careless  life  around  me. 

But  this  was  not  all.    It  was  only  the  open  gate  at  which 
I  entered  a  wide  field  of  doubt.     All  my  religious  opin 
ions  took  on  an  air  of  unreality.     The  old,  implicit  faith 
which,  like  an  angel  with  a  sword  of  flame,  had  stood  at 
the  door  of  my  heart,  comforting  me  with  its  presence, 
and  keeping  at  a  distance  all  the  shapes  of  unbelief,  took 
its  flight,  and  the  dark  band  gathered  closer,   with  a 
thousand  questions  and  suggestions.     Was  there  a  God  ? 
Was  the  God  whom  I  had  learned  to  worship  anything 
more  than  a  figment   of  conspiring   imaginations  ?     If 
He  were  more  than  this,  had  He  revealed  himself  in 
words  ?      Was  Jesus  Christ  a  historical  character  or  a 
myth?     Was  there  any  such  thing,  after  all,  as  personal 
accountability  ?     Was  the  daily  conduct  of  so  insignifi 
cant  a  person  as  myself  of  the  slightest  moment  to  a 
Being  who  held  an  infinite  universe  in  charge  ?     Who 
knew  that  the  soul  was  immortal,  and  that  its  condition 
here  bore  any  relation  to  its  condition  there  ?     Was  not 
half  of  that  which  I  had  looked   upon  as  sin,  made  sin 
only  by  a  conscience  wrongly  educated  ?     Was  drinking 
wine  a  sin  in  itself?     If  not,  why  had  it  so  wounded  me  ? 
Other  consciences  did  not  condemn  an  act  which  had 
cost  me  my  peace  and  self-respect.     Who  knew  but  that 
a  thousand  things  which  I  had  considered  wrong  were 
only  wrong  because  I  so  considered  them  ?     After  all  my 
painstaking  and  my  prayers,  had  I  been  anything  better 
than  a  slave  to  a  conscience  perverted  or  insufficiently 
informed  ? 

The  path  from  an  open  violation  of  conscience  to  a 


Arthur  Eonnicastlc.  269 

condition  of  religious  doubt,  is  as  direct  as  that  which 
leads  to  heaven.  It  was  so  in  my  case,  and  the  ob 
servation  of  a  long  life  has  shown  me  that  it  is  so  in 
every  case.  Just  in  the  proportion  that  my  practice  de 
generated  did  my  views  become  modified  to  accommo 
date  themselves  to  my  life. 

I  said  very  little  about  the  changes  going  on  in  my 
mind,  except  to  my  faithful  companion  and  friend,  Henry. 
When  he  returned  from  Bradford,  he,  for  the  first  time, 
became  fully  aware  of  the  great  change  that  had  taken 
place  in  me.  He  was  an  intense  hater  of  sham  and 
cant,  and  sympathized  with  me  in  my  dislike  of  the  type 
of  piety  with  which  we  were  often  thrown  in  contact. 
This,  1  suppose,  had  blinded  him  to  the  fact  that  I  was 
trying  to  sustain  myself  in  my  criticism  of  others.  I 
could  not  hide  my  growing  infidelity  from  him,  however, 
for  it  seemed  necessary  for  me  to  have  some  one  to  talk 
with,  and  I  was  conscious  of  a  new  disposition  to  argue 
and  defend  myself.  Here  I  was  misled  again.  I  fancied 
that  my  modification  of  views  came  of  intellectual  con 
victions,  and  that  I  could  not  be  to  blame  for  changes 
based  upon  what  I  was  fond  of  calling  "my  God-given 
reason."  I  lost  sight  of  the  fact  that  the  changes  came 
first,  and  that  the  only  office  to  which  I  put  "  my  God- 
given  reason  "  was  that  of  satisfying  and  defending  my 
self.  Oh,  the  wretched  sophistries  of  those  wretched 
days  and  years  !  ' 

I  do  not  like  to  speak  so  much  of  prayer  as  I  have 
been  compelled  to  in  these  pages,  for  even  this  sounds 
like  cant  to  many  ears  ;  but,  in  truth,  I  cannot  write 
the  story  of  my  life  without  it.  I  do  not  believe  there 
can  be  such  a  thing  as  a  truly  religious  life  without 
prayer.  The  religious  soul  must  hold  converse  and 
communion  with  the  Infinite  or  its  religion  cannot  live. 
It  may  be  the  simple  expression  of  gratitude  and  desire. 
It  may  be  the  prostration  of  the  soul  in  worship  and 


270  Arthur  Bonnicastle. 

adoration.  It  may  be  the  up-springing  of  the  spirit  in 
strong  aspiration  ;  but  in  some  way  or  form  there  must 
be  prayer,  or  religion  dies.  There  must  be  an  open 
way  between  the  heart  of  man  and  the  heart  of  the  Infi 
nite — a  ladder  that  reaches  from  the  pillow  of  stone  to 
the  pillars  of  the  Throne,  where  angels  may  climb  and 
angels  may  descend — or  the  religious  life  of  the  soul  can 
have  no  ministry. 

In  my  changed  condition  and  circumstances,  I  found 
myself  deprived  of  this  great  source  of  life.  First  my 
sin  shut  me  away,  and  my  neglect  of  known  and  ac 
knowledged  duty.  Then  my  frivolous  pursuits  and  tri 
fling  diversions  rendered  me  unfit  for  the  awful  presence 
into  which  prayer  led  me.  Then,  unbelief  placed  its 
bar  before  me.  In  truth,  I  found  in  prayer,  whenever  I 
attempted  it,  only  a  hollow  expression  of  penitence, 
from  a  weak  and  unwilling  heart,  toward  a  Being  in 
whose  existence  I  did  not  more  than  half  believe. 

I  bowed  with  Henry  at  our  bed  every  night,  but  it 
was  only  a  mockery.  He  apprehended  it  at  last,  and 
questioned  me  about  it.  One  night,  after  we  had  risen 
from  our  knees,  he  said  :  "  Arthur,  how  is  it  with  you  ? 
I  don't  understand  how  a  man  who  talks  as  you  do  can 
pray  with  any  comfort  to  himself.  You  are  not  at  all 
what  you  used  to  be." 

"  I'll  be  frank  with  you,  Henry,"  I  answered.  "  I  don't 
pray  with  any  comfort  to  myself,  or  any  profit  either. 
It's  all  a  sham,  and  I  don't  intend  to  do  any  more  of  it." 

"  Oh,  Arthur,  Arthur,  has  it  come  to  this  !  "  exclaimed 
the  dear  fellow,  his  eyes  filling  with  tears.  "  Have  you 
gone  so  far  astray  ?  How  can  you  live  ?  I  should  think 
you  would  die." 

"  You  see  !  "  I  said  carelessly  :  "  I'm  in  very  good 
health.  The  world  goes  on  quite  well.  There  are  no 
earthquakes  or  hurricanes.  The  sun  rises  and  sets  in 
the  old  way,  and  the  wicked  prosper  like  the  righteous, 


Arthur  Bonnicastlc.  271 

the  same  as  they  have  always  done,  and  get  along  with 
out  any  serious  bother  with  their  consciences  besides. 
The  fact  is  that  my  views  of  everything  have  changed, 
and  I  don't  pray  as  I  used  to  pray,  simply  because  the 
thing  is  impossible." 

Henry  looked  at  me  while  I  said  this,  with  a  stunned, 
bewildered  expression,  and  then,  putting  his  arms  around 
my  neck,  bowed  his  head  upon  my  shoulder  and  said, 
half  choked  with  emotion  :  "I  can't  bear  it  ;  I  can't 
bear  it.  It  must  not  be  so." 

Then  he  put  me  off,  and  looked  at  me.  His  eyes  were 
dry,  and  a  determined,  almost  prophetic  expression  was 
in  them  as  he  said  :  "  It  will  not  be  so  ;  it  shall  not  be 
so." 

"  How  are  you  going  to  prevent  it  ?  "  I  inquired  coolly. 

"  I  shall  not  prevent  it,  but  there  is  one  who  will,  you 
may  be  very  sure,"  he  replied.  "  There  is  a  God,  and 
he  hears  the  prayers  of  those  who  love  him.  You  cannot 
prevent  me  from  praying  for  you,  and  I  shall  do  it  always. 
You  and  I  belong  to  the  same  church,  and  I  am  under  a 
vow  to  watch  over  you.  Besides,  you  and  I  promised  to 
help  one  another  in  every  emergency,  and  I  shall  not 
forget  the  promise." 

"  So  I  am  under  a  guardian,  am  I  ? " 

"  Yes,  you  are  under  a  guardian — a  very  much  more 
powerful  guardian  than  I  am,"  he  replied. 

"  I  suppose  I  shall  be  taken  care  of,  then,"  I  said. 

"  Yes,  you  will  be  taken  care  of;  if  not  in  the  mild 
way  with  which  you  have  hitherto  been  treated,  then  in 
a  rough  way  to  which  you  are  not  used.  The  prayers  and 
hopes  and  expectations  of  such  a  father  as  yours  are  not 
to  be  disregarded  or  go  for  nothing.  By  some  means, 
tender  or  terrible,  you  are  to  be  brought  out  of  your  in 
difference  and  saved." 

There  was  something  in  this  talk  which  brought  back 
to  me  the  covert  threat  that  I  had  heard  from  the  lips  of 


272  Arthur  Bonnicastlc. 

Mr.  Bradford,  of  which  I  had  not  thought  much.  Were 
he  and  Henry  leagued  together  in  any  plan  that  would 
bring  me  punishment  ?  That  was  impossible,  yet  I  grew 
suspicious  of  both  of  them.  I  did  not  doubt  their  friend 
ship,  yet  the  thing  I  feared  most  was  an  interference  with 
my  prospects  of  wealth.  Was  it  possible  that  they,  in  case 
I  should  not  meet  their  wishes,  would  inform  Mrs.  San 
derson  of  my  unworthiness  of  her  benefactions,  and  re 
duce  me  to  the  necessity  and  shame  of  taking  care  of 
myself  ?  This  was  the  great  calamity  I  dreaded.  Here 
was  where  my  life  could  only  be  touched.  Here  was  where 
I  felt  painfully  sensitive  and  weak. 

A  little  incident  occurred  about  this  time  which  ren 
dered  me  still  more  suspicious.  I  had  been  in  the  habit 
of  receiving  letters  from  Mrs.  Sanderson,  addressed  in 
the  handwriting  of  Mrs.  Belden.  Indeed,  not  a  few  of 
my. letters  from  The  Mansion  were  written  entirely  by 
that  lady,  under  Mrs.  Sanderson's  dictation.  I  had  in 
this  way  become  so  familiar  with  her  handwriting  that  I 
could  hardly  be  mistaken  in  it,  wherever  I  might  see  it. 
From  the  first  day  of  our  entering  college,  Henry  had 
insisted  on  our  having  separate  boxes  at  the  Post-Office. 
I  had  never  known  the  real  reason  for  this,  nor  had  I 
cared  to  inquire  what  it  might  be.  The  thought  had 
crossed  my  mind  that  he  was  not  willing  to  have  me 
know  how  often  he  received  letters  from  my  sister.  One 
morning  he  was  detained  by  a  severe  cold  from  going, 
in  his  accustomed  way,  for  his  mail,  and  as  I  was  at  the 
office,  I  inquired  whether  there  were  letters  for  him.  I 
had  no  object  in  this  but  to  do  him  a  brotherly  service  ; 
but  as  his  letters  were  handed  to  me,  I  looked  them  over, 
and  was  startled  to  find  an  address  in  what  looked  like 
Mrs.  Belden's  handwriting.  I  examined  it  carefully, 
compared  it  with  several  addresses  from  her  hand  which 
I  had  in  my  pocket,  and  became  sure  that  my  first  sus 
picions  were  correct. 


Arthur  Bonnicastle.  273 

Here  was  food  for  the  imagination  of  a  guilty  man.  I 
took  the  letters  to  Henry,  and  handing  them  to  him  in  a 
careless  way,  remarked  that,  as  I  was  at  the  office,  I 
thought  I  would  save  him  the  trouble  of  sending  for  his 
mail.  He  took  the  package,  ran  it  over  in  his  hand,  se 
lected  the  letter  that  had  attracted  my  attention,  and  put 
it  into  his  pocket  unopened.  He  did  not  look  at  me,  and 
I  was  sure  he  could  not,  for  I  detected  a  flush  of  alarm 
upon  his  face  at  the  moment  I  handed  the  letters  to  him. 
I  did  not  pause  to  see  more,  or  to  make  any  inquiry  for 
Bradford  friends,  and,  turning  upon  my  heel,  left  the 
room. 

I  could  not  do  else  than  conclude  that  there  was  a 
private  understanding  of  some  sort  between  him  and 
Mrs.  Belden.  What  this  was,  was  a  mystery  which  I 
taxed  my  ingenuity  to  fathom.  My  mind  ran  upon  it  all 
day.  I  knew  Henry  had  seen  Mrs.  Belden  at  Mr.  Brad 
ford's,  and  even  at  my  father's  during  the  winter,  for  she 
had  maintained  her  friendship  for  Claire.  Could  there 
have  sprung  up  a  friendly  intimacy  between  her  and 
Henry  of  which  this  correspondence  was  an  outgrowth  ? 
It  did  not  seem  likely.  However  harmless  my  surmises 
might  be,  I  always  came  back  to  the  conclusion  that 
through  Mrs.  Belden  and  Henry  an  espionage  upon  my 
conduct  had  been  established  by  Mrs.  Sanderson,  and 
that  all  my  words  and  acts  had  been  watched  and  re 
ported.  As  soon  as  this  conviction  became  rooted  in 
my  mind,  I  lost  my  faith  in  Henry,  and  from  that  hour, 
for  a  long  time,  shut  away  my  confidence  from  him.  He 
could  not  but  notice  this  change,  and  he  was  deeply 
wounded  by  it.-  Through  all  the  remainder  of  the  time 
we  spent  in  college  together,  there  was  a  restraint  in  our 
intercourse.  I  spent  as  little  time  with  him  as  possible, 
though  I  threw  new  guards  around  my  conduct,  and  was 
careful  that  he  should  see  and  hear  nothing  to  my  dis 
credit.  I  even  strove,  in  a  weak  way,  to  regain  some- 


274  Arthur  Bonnicastle. 

thing  of  the  ground  I  had  lost  in  study ;  but,  as  I  was  not 
actuated  by  a  worthy  motive,  my  progress  was  neither 
marked  nor  persistent. 

I  certainly  was  not  happy.  I  sighed  a  thousand  times 
to  think  of  the  peace  and  inspiration  I  had  lost.  My 
better  ambitions  were  gone,  my  conscience  was  unsatis 
fied,  my  disposition  to  pray  had  fled,  my  Christian  hope 
was  extinguished,  and  my  faith  was  dead.  I  was  de 
spoiled  of  all  that  made  me  truly  rich  ;  and  all  that  I 
had  left  were  the  good-will  of  those  around  me,  my  so 
cial  position,  and  the  expectation  of  wealth  which,  when 
it  should  come  into  my  hands,  would  not  only  give  me 
the  luxurious  delights  that  I  craved  as  the  rarest  boon 
of  life,  but  command  the  respect  as  well  of  the  rich  as  of 
those  less  favored  than  myself.  I  longed  to  get  through 
with  the  bondage  and  the  duty  of  my  college  life.  I  do 
not  dare  to  say  that  I  longed  for  the  death  of  my  bene 
factress.  I  will  not  acknowledge  that  I  had  become  so 
base  as  this,  but  I  could  have  been  reconciled  to  any 
thing  that  would  irrevocably  place  in  my  power  the 
wealth  and  independence  I  coveted. 

It  is  useless  to  linger  further  over  this  period  of  my 
life.  I  have  traced  with  sufficient  detail  the  influences 
which  wrought  my  transformation.  They  have  been 
painful  in  the  writing,  and  they  must  have  been  equally 
painful  in  the  reading,  to  all  those  who  had  become  in 
terested  in  my  career,  welfare  and  character.  My  sus 
picions  that  Henry  was  a  spy  upon  my  conduct  were 
effaced  for  the  time  whenever  I  went  home.  Mrs.  San 
derson,  upon  whom  the  passing  years  began  to  lay  a 
heavy  finger,  showed  no  abatement  of  affection  for  me, 
and  seemed  even  more  impatient  than  I  for  the  termi 
nation  of  my  college  life  and  my  permanent  restoration 
to  her  home  and  society.  Mrs.  Belden  was  as  sweet  and 
ladylike  and  cordial  as  ever.  She  talked  freely  of  Henry 


Arthur  Bonnicastlc,  275 

af  one  whom  she  had  learned  to  admire  and  respect, 
and  thought  me  most  fortunate  in  having  such  a  com 
panion.  There  was  a  vague  shadow  of  disappointment 
on  my  father's  face,  and  I  saw  too,  with  pain,  that  time 
and  toil  had  not  left  him  untouched  with  change. 

My  visits  in  Bradford  always  made  me  better.  So 
much  was  expected  of  me,  so  much  was  I  loved  and 
trusted,  so  sweet  and  friendly  were  all  my  acquaintances, 
that  I  never  left  them  to  return  to  my  college  life  with 
out  fresh  resolutions  to  industry  and  improvement.  If 
these  resolutions  were  abandoned,  those  who  know  the 
power  of  habit  and  the  influence  of  old  and  unrenounced 
companionships  will  understand  the  reason  why.  I  had 
deliberately  made  my  bed,  and  I  was  obliged  to  lie  in  it. 
My  compliant  disposition  brought  me  uniformly  under 
the  yoke  of  the  old  persuasions  to  indolence  and  frivo 
lous  pursuits. 

Livingston  went  away  when  his  time  came.  There 
was  much  that  was  lovable  in  him.  He  had  a  stronger 
character  than  I,  and  he  had  always  been  so  used  to 
wealth  and  the  expectation  of  wealth  that  he  was  less 
harmed  than  I  by  these  influences.  Peter  Mullens  went 
away,  and  though  I  occasionally  heard  about  him,  I  saw 
him  no  more  for  several  years.  I  became  at  last  the 
leader  of  my  set,  and  secured  a  certain  measure  of  re 
spect  from  them  because  I  led  them  into  no  vicious  dis 
sipations.  In  this  I  took  a  degree  of  pride  and  satisfac 
tion  ;  but  my  teachers  had  long  abandoned  any  hope 
that  I  should  distinguish  myself,  and  had  come  to  regard 
me  coldly.  My  religious  experiences  were  things  of  the 
past.  I  continued  to  show  a  certain  respect  for  religion, 
by  attending  the  public  services  of  the  church.  I  did 
everything  for  the  sake  of  appearances,  and  for  the  pur 
pose  of  blinding  myself  and  my  friends  to  the  deadness 
and  hollowness  of  a  life  that  had  ceased  to  be  controlled 
by  manly  and  Christian  motives. 


276  Arthur  Bonnicastle. 

At  last  the  long-looked-for  day  of  release  approached, 
and  although  I  wished  it  to  come,  I  wished  it  were  well 
over  and  forgotten.  I  had  no  honors  to  receive,  and  I 
knew  that  it  was  universally  expected  that  Henry  would 
carry  away  the  highest  of  his  class.  I  do  not  think  I 
envied  him  his  eminence,  for  I  knew  he  had  nobly 
earned  it,  and  that  in  the  absence  of  other  advantages  it 
would  do  him  good.  I  had  money  and  he  had  scholar 
ship,  which,  in  time,  would  give  him  money.  In  these 
possessions  we  should  be  able  to  start  more  evenly  in 
life. 

The  time  passed  away,  until  the  day  preceding  the 
annual  Commencement  dawned.  In  the  middle  of  this 
day's  excitements,  as  I  was  sitting  in  my  room,  there  was 
a  rap  at  my  door.  There  were  a  dozen  of  my  fellows 
with  me,  and  we  were  in  a  merry  mood.  Supposing  the 
caller  to  be  a  student,  I  made  a  response  in  some  slang 
phrase,  but  the  door  was  not  opened.  I  then  went  to  it, 
threw  it  wide,  and  stood  face  to  face  with  my  father.  I 
was  not  glad  to  see  him,  and  as  my  nature  was  too  trans 
parent  to  permit  me  to  deceive  him,  and  he  too  sensitive 
to  fail  of  apprehending  the  state  of  my  feelings,  even  if 
I  had  endeavored  to  do  so,  the  embarrassment  of  the 
moment  may  be  imagined. 

"  Well,  father  !  "    I  said,  "  this  is  a  surprise  !  " 

The  moment  I  pronounced  the  word  "  father,"  the 
fellows  began  to  retire,  with  hurried  remarks  about  en 
gagements,  and  with  promises  to  call  again.  It  was 
hardly  ten  seconds  before  every  man  of  them  was  out 
of  my  room. 

The  dear  old  man  had  dressed  himself  in  his  plain 
best,  and  had  come  to  see  realized  the  great  hope  of  his 
life,  and  I,  miserable  ingrate  that  I  was,  was  ashamed 
of  him.  My  fellows  had  fled  the  room  because  they 
knew  I  was,  and  because  they  wished  to  save  me  the  pain 
of  presenting  him  to  them.  As  soon  as  they  were  gone 


Arthur  Bonnicastle.  277 

I  strove  to  reassure  him,  and  to  convince  him  that  I  was 
heartily  glad  to  see  him.  It  was  easy  for  him  to  make 
apologies  for  me,  and  to  receive  those  which  I  made  for 
myself.  He  had  had  such  precious  faith  in  me  that  he 
did  not  wish  to  have  it  shaken.  He  had  left  his  work 
and  come  to  the  City  of  Elms  to  witness  my  triumphs. 
He  had  intended  to  give  me  a  glad  day.  Indeed,  he  had 
had  dreams  of  going  about  to  make  the  acquaintance  of 
the  professors,  and  of  being  entertained  with  a  view  of 
all  the  wonders  of  the  college.  I  knew  him  so  well  that 
I  did  not  doubt  that  he  expected  to  be  taken  in  hand  by 
his  affectionate  son  on  his  arrival,  and  conducted  every 
where,  sharing  his  glory.  Never  in  my  life  had  I  received 
so  startling  a  view  of  the  meanness  of  my  own  character 
as  on  that  morning.  I  could  not  possibly  hide  myself 
from  myself;  and  my  disgust  with  myself  was  measure 
less.  Here  was  a  man  whom  I  loved  better  than  I  loved, 
or  had  ever  loved,  any  other  human  being — a  man  wor 
thy  of  my  profoundest  respect — the  sweetest,  simplest, 
purest,  noblest  man  whom  I  had  ever  known,  with  a 
love  in  his  heart  for  me  which  amounted  to  idolatry — 
yet  I  could  have  wished  him  a  thousand  miles  away, 
rather  than  have  my  gay  and  aristocratic  companions 
find  me  in  association  with  him,  and  recognize  the  rela 
tions  that  existed  between  us. 

What  should  I  do  with  him  ?  Where  could  I  put 
him  ?  How  could  I  hide  him  ?  The  thought  of  showing 
him  around  was  torture.  Why  had  he  not  stayed  at 
home  ?  What  could  I  say  to  him  to  explain  my  failure  ? 
How  could  I  break  the  force  of  the  blow  which  he  must 
soon  receive  ?  I  inquired  about  home  and  its  affairs.  I 
talked  of  everything  but  that  which  he  most  desired  to 
talk  about ;  and  all  the  time  I  was  contriving  ways  to 
cut  him  adrift,  or  to  cover  him  up. 

I  was  saved  the  trouble  I  anticipated  by  my  good 
friend  Henry,  who,  when  he  came,  was  so  heartily  de- 


278  Arthur  Bonnicastle. 

lighted  to  see  my  father  that  the  whole  course  of  relief 
was  made  plain.  Henry  knew  me  and  vny  circum 
stances,  and  he  knew  that  my  father's  presence  was  un 
welcome.  He  at  once  took  it  upon  himself  to  say  that  I 
had  a  great  many  companions,  and  that  they  would 
want  me  with  them.  So  he  should  have  the  pleasure  of 
looking  after  my  father,  and  of  showing  him  everything 
he  wanted  to  see.  He  disregarded  all  my  protests,  and 
good-naturedly  told  me  to  go  where  I  was  wanted. 

The  good  old  man  had  a  pleasant  time.  He  visited 
the  cabinets,  he  was  introduced  to  the  professors  when 
he  chanced  to  meet  them,  he  saw  all  that  was  worth  see 
ing.  He  had  a  conversation  with  Henry  about  me. 
which  saved  me  the  making  of  apologies  that  would 
have  been  essential  falsehoods.  I  had  won  no  honors, 
Henry  told  him,  because  I  had  had  too  much  money  ;  but 
I  was  popular,  was  quite  the  equal  of  many  others,  and 
would  receive  my  degree.  I  saw  them  together,  going 
from  building  to  building  and  walking  under  the  elms 
and  along  the  streets.  That  which  to  my  wretched  van 
ity  would  have  been  pain  was  to  Henry's  self-assured 
and  self-respectful  manhood  a  rare  pleasure.  I  doubl 
whether  he  spent  a  day  during  his  whole  college  life  more 
delightfully  than  that  which  he  spent  with  my  father. 

At  night  I  had  another  call.  Mr.  Bird  came  in.  1 
went  to  him  in  my  old  way,  sat  down  in  his  ample  lap, 
and  put  my  arms  around  his  neck. 

"  Arthur,  my  boy,  I  love  you,"  he  said.  "  There  is 
a  man  in  you  still,  but  all  that  I  feared  might  be  the  re 
sult  of  your  circumstances  has  happened.  Henry  has 
outstripped  you,  and  while  we  are  all  glad  for  him,  we 
are  all  disappointed  in  you." 

I  tried  to  talk  in  a  gay  way  about  it,  but  I  was  troub 
led  and  ashamed. 

"By  the  way,  I  have  seen  your  father  to-day,"  he 
said. 


ArtJiur  Bonnicastle.  279 

*'  And  what  did  he  say?  "  I  inquired. 

"No  matter  what  he  said:  he  is  not  happy.  You 
have  disappointed  him,  but  he  will  not  upbraid  you. 
He  is  pained  to  feel  that  privileges  which  seemed  to  him 
inestimable  should  have  been  so  poorly  improved,  and 
that  the  boy  from  whom  he  hoped  and  for  whom  he  has 
sacrificed  so  much  should  have  shown  himself  so  care 
less  and  unworthy." 

"  I'm  sorry  for  him,"  I  said. 

"  Very  well,  my  boy  ;  and  now  tell  me,  has  the  kind 
of  life  which  has  cost  him  so  much  pain  paid  you  ?  " 

"  No." 

"  Are  you  going  to  change  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know:   I  doubt  if  I  do,"  I  responded. 

"  Has  money  been  a  good  thing  for  you  ?  " 

"  No ;  it  has  been  a  curse  to  me." 

"  Are  you  willing  to  relinquish  it?  " 

"  No  :  I'm  spoiled  for  poverty.     It's  too  late." 

"  Is  it?     We'll  see." 

Then  the  good  man,  with  a  stern  look  upon  his  face, 
kissed  me  as  he  used  to  in  the  old  times,  and  took  his 
leave. 

Here  was  another  warning  or  threat,  and  it  filled  me 
with  uneasiness.  Long  after  Henry  had  fallen  asleep 
that  night,  I  lay  revolving  it  in  my  mind.  I  began  to 
feel  that  I  had  been  cruelly  treated.  If  money  had 
spoiled  me,  who  had  been  to  blame?  It  was  forced 
upon  me,  my  father  consenting.  It  had  wrought  out  its 
natural  influence  upon  me.  Somebody  ought  to  have 
foreseen  it.  I  had  been  wronged,  and  was  now  blamed 
for  that  which  others  were  responsible  for. 

Commencement  day  came,  with  its  crowd  of  excite 
ments.  The  church  in  which  the  public  exercises  were 
held  was  thronged.  Hundreds  from  the  towns  and  cities 
around  had  assembled  to  witness  the  bestowal  of  the 
honors  of  study  upon  their  friends  and  favorites.  Our 


280  Arthur  Bonnicastle. 

class  had,  as  usual  on  such  occasions,  our  places  to 
gether,  and  as  I  did  not  belong  to  the  group  of  fellows 
who  had  appointments  for  orations,  I  was  with  the  class. 
Taking  my  seat,  I  looked  around  upon  the  multitude. 
Beautifully  dressed  ladies  crowded  the  galleries,  and  I 
was  deeply  mortified  that  I  should  win  neither  their 
smiles  nor  their  flowers.  I  was,  for  the  time  at  least,  a 
nonentity.  They  had  eyes  for  none  but  those  who  had 
won  the  right  to  admiration. 

At  my  right  I  saw  a  figure  which  I  thought  to  be  that 
of  an  acquaintance.  His  head  was  turned  from  me, 
while  he  conversed  with  a  strikingly  beautiful  girl  at  his 
side.  He  looked  toward  the  stage  at  last,  and  then  I 
saw  that  it  was  Mr.  Bradford.  Could  that  young  woman 
be  Millie  ?  I  had  not  seen  her  since  I  so  shamefully 
encountered  her  more  than  two  years  before.  It  was 
Millie.  She  had  ripened  into  womanhood  during  this 
brief  interval,  and  her  beauty  was  conspicuous  even 
among  the  score  of  beauties  by  which  she  was  sur 
rounded. 

The  orators  came  and  went,  receiving  their  tributes 
of  applause  from  the  audience,  and  of  flowers  from  their 
friends  ;  but  I  had  no  eyes  for  any  one  but  Millie.  I 
could  regard  her  without  hinderance,  for  she  did  not 
once  look  at  me.  I  had  always  carried  the  thought  of 
her  in  my  heart.  The  little  talks  we  had  had  together 
had  been  treasured  in  my  memory  among  its  choicest 
possessions.  She  had  arrived  at  woman's  estate,  and 
I  had  now  no  laurels  to  lay  at  her  feet.  This  was  the  one 
pungent  drop  of  gall  in  my  cup  of  wormwood,  for  then 
and  there  I  acknowledged  to  myself  that  in  a  vague  way 
I  had  associated  her  in  my  imagination  with  all  my  fu 
ture  life.  When  I  had  dreamed  of  one  who  should  sit 
in  Mrs.  Sanderson's  chair,  after  she  had  passed  away,  it 
was  always  Millie.  I  had  not  loved  her  with  a  man's 
love,  but  my  heart  was  all  open  toward  her,  ready  to 


Arthur  Bonnicastle.  281 

kindle  in  her  smile  or  the  glance  of  her  marvellous  eyes. 
I  knew  there  was  only  one  whom  she  had  come  to  see, 
and  rejoiced  in  the  thought  that  she  could  be  nothing 
more  to  him  than  a  friend,  yet  I  grudged  the  honor 
which  he  was  that  day  to  win  in  her  eyes. 

At  last  the  long  list  of  speakers  was  exhausted,  and 
Henry  came  upon  the  stage  to  deliver  the  valedictory. 
He  was  received  with  a  storm  of  cheers,  and,  perfect 
ly  self-possessed,  came  forward  in  his  splendid  young 
manhood  to  perform  his  part.  I  knew  that  Mr.  Bird  was 
somewhere  in  the  audience,  looking  on  and  listening 
with  moistened  eyes  and  swelling  heart.  I  knew  that 
my  father,  in  his  lonely  sorrow,  was  thinking  of  his  dis 
appointment  in  me  and  my  career.  I  knew  that  Mr. 
Bradford  and  Millie  were  regarding  Henry  with  a  degree 
of  pride  and  gratification  which,  for  the  moment,  shut 
me  out  of  their  minds.  As  his  voice  rang  out  over  the 
vast  congregation,  and  cheer  after  cheer  greeted  his 
splendid  periods,  I  bent  my  head  with  shame  ;  and 
tears  that  had  long  been  strangers  to  my  eyes  fell  un 
bidden  down  my  cheeks.  I  inwardly  cursed  my  indo 
lence,  my  meanness,  and  the  fortune  which  had  ener 
vated  and  spoiled  me. 

As  Henry  made  his  bow  in  retiring,  there  was  a  long- 
continued  and  universal  burst  of  applause,  and  a  rain  of 
bouquets  upon  the  platform  which  half  bewildered  him. 
I  watched  for  the  Bradfords,  and  the  most  beautiful 
bouquet  of  all  was  handed  by  Millie  to  her  father  and 
tossed  by  him  at  Henry's  feet.  He  picked  up  all  the 
others,  then  raised  this  to  his  lips,  and,  looking  up 
at  the  gallery,  made  a  profound  bow  to  the  giver,  and 
retired.  Knowing  that  with  my  quicker  brain  it  had 
been  in  my  power  to  win  that  crowning  honor,  and  that 
it  was  irrevocably  lost  to  me,  the  poor  diploma  that 
came  to  me  among  the  others  of  my  class  gave  me  nc 
pleasure. 


282  Arthur  Bonnicastle. 

I  knew  that  the  young  woman  was  right.  She  waS 
true  to  her  womanly  instincts,  and  had  no  honors  to  be 
stow  except  upon  the  worker  and  the  hero.  The  man 
who  had  demonstrated  his  manhood  won  the  honor  ot 
her  womanhood.  Henry  was  everything  ;  1  was  nothing. 
"The  girl  is  right,"  I  said  to  myself,  "and  some  time 
she  shall  know  that  the  stuff  she  worships  is  in  me." 

A  young  man  rarely  gets  a  better  vision  of  himself 
than  that  which  is  reflected  from  a  true  woman's  eyes, 
for  God  himself  sits  behind  them.  That  which  a  man 
was  intended  to  be  is  that  which  unperverted  woman 
hood  demands  that  he  shall  be.  I  felt  at  the  moment 
that  a  new  motive  had  been  born  in  me,  and  that  I  was 
not  wholly  shorn  of  power  and  the  possibilities  of  heroic 
life. 

Before  we  left  New  Haven,  Mr.  Bradford,  Mr.  Bird, 
and  my  father  met  by  appointment.  What  their  busi 
ness  was  I  did  not  know,  but  I  had  little  doubt  that  it 
related  to  me.  I  was  vexed  by  the  thought,  but  I  was 
too  proud  to  ask  any  questions.  I  hoped  that  the  whole 
Bradford  party  would  find  themselves  in  the  same  con 
veyance  on  the  way  home,  but  on  the  morning  following 
Commencement,  my  father,  Henry,  and  myself  took 
our  seats  in  the  coach,  and  Mr.  Bradford  and  Millie 
were  left  behind.  I  had  not  spoken  to  either  of  them. 
I  did  not  like  to  call  upon  Millie,  and  her  father  had  not 
sought  me. 

I  was  not  disposed  to  talk,  and  all  the  conversation 
was  carried  on  by  my  father  and  Henry.  I  saw  that  the 
young  man  had  taken  a  warm  place  near  my  father's 
heart — that  they  understood  and  appreciated  one  an 
other  perfectly.  Remembering  what  an  idol  1  had  been, 
and  how  cruelly  I  had  defaced  my  own  lineaments  and 
proved  myself  unworthy  of  the  worship,  a  vision  of  this 
new  friendship  was  not  calculated  to  increase  my  happi 
ness.  But  I  was  full  of  my  plans.  I  would  win  Millie 


Arthur  Bonnicastle.  283 

Bradford's  respect  or  I  would  die.  My  imagination  con 
structed  all  sorts  of  impossible  situations  in  which  I  was 
to  play  the  part  of  hero,  and  compel  her  admiration.  I 
would  devote  myself  to  labor ;  I  would  acquire  a  profes 
sion  ;  I  would  achieve  renown  ;  I  would  become  an  ora 
tor  ;  I  would  win  office  ;  I  would  wrench  a  bough  from 
the  highest  laurel,  and,  dashing  it  at  her  feet,  say  : 
"  There  !  I  have  earned  your  approval  and  your  smile  ; 
give  them  to  me  !  " 

The  practical  power  that  resides  in  this  kind  of  vapor 
ing  is  readily  appreciated.  I  had  at  last  my  opportuni 
ty  to  demonstrate  my  possession  of  heroism,  but  it  did 
not  come  in  the  form  I  anticipated  and  hoped  for. 

Our  welcome  home  was  cordial.  My  poor  mother 
thought  I  had  grown  thin,  and  was  afraid  I  had  studied 
too  much.  The  unintended  sarcasm  did  not  reassure 
me.  Henry  and  Claire  were  happy,  and  I  left  the  be 
loved  group  to  seek  my  own  lonelier  home.  There  I 
manifested  a  delight  I  did  not  feel.  I  tossed  my  diplo 
ma  into  Mrs.  Sanderson's  lap,  and  lightly  told  her  that 
there  was  the  bit  of  sheepskin  which  had  cost  her  so 
much.  Mrs.  Belden  congratulated  me,  and  the  two 
women  were  glad  to  have  me  at  home.  I  spent  the 
evening  with  them,  and  led  the  conversation,  so  far  as  I 
could,  into  channels  that  diverted  their  minds  from  un 
comfortable  inquiries. 

Our  life  soon  took  on  the  old  habits,  and  I  heartily 
tried  to  make  myself  tributary  to  the  comfort  and  happi 
ness  of  the  house.  Poor  old  Jenks  was  crippled  with 
rheumatism,  and  while  he  was  made  to  believe  that  the 
domestic  establishment  could  not  be  operated  without 
him,  he  had  in  reality  become  a  burden.  As  the  weather 
grew  intensely  hot,  and  Mrs.  Sanderson  showed  signs 
of  weakness,  Mrs.  Belden  took  her  away  to  the  sea-side 
again,  leaving  me  once  more  the  master  of  The  Man 
sion. 


284  Arthur  Bonnicastle. 

A  little  incident  occurred  on  the  morning  of  Mrs.  San 
derson's  departure  which  left  an  uncomfortable  impres 
sion  upon  my  mind.  She  went  into  the  dining-room, 
and  closed  the  door  behind  her.  As  the  carriage  wa? 
waiting  for  her,  I  unthinkingly  opened  the  door,  and 
found  her  before  the  picture.  The  tears  were  on  her 
cheeks,  and  she  looked  pale  and  distressed.  I  impul 
sively  put  my  arm  around  her,  bent  down  and  kissed 
her,  and  led  her  away.  As  I  did  this,  I  determined  that 
I  would  find  out  the  secret  of  that  picture  if  I  could.  I 
was  old  enough  to  be  trusted  with  it,  and  I  would  have 
it.  I  did  not  doubt  that  many  in  the  town  could  tell  me 
all  about  it,  though  I  knew  there  were  reasons  connected 
with  my  relations  to  Mrs.  Sanderson  which  had  thus  fat 
forbidden  them  to  speak  to  me  about  it. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

HENRY  BECOMES  A  GUEST  AT  THE  MANSION   BY  FORCE 
OF  CIRCUMSTANCES. 

IT  was  natural  that  the  first  business  which  presented 
itself  to  be  done  after  the  departure  of  Mrs.  Sanderson, 
should  be  the  reinstatement  of  my  social  relations  with 
the  Bradfords,  yet  how  it  could  be  effected  without  an 
invitation  from  them  I  could  not  imagine.  I  knew  that 
they  were  all  at  home,  and  that  Henry  and  Claire  had 
called  upon  them.  Day  after  day  passed,  however,  and 
I  heard  nothing  from  them.  The  time  began  to  drag 
heavily  on  my  idle  hands,  when,  one  pleasant  evening, 
Mr.  Bradford  made  his  appearance  at  The  Mansion.  I 
had  determined  upon  the  course  to  be  pursued  whenever 
I  should  meet  him,  and  after  some  commonplace  conver 


Arthur  Bonnicasile.  285 

sation,  I  said  to  him,  with  all  my  old  frankness,  that  1 
wished  to  open  my  heart  to  him. 

"  I  cannot  hide  from  myself  the  fact,"  I  said,  "  that  I 
am  in  disgrace  with  you  and  your  family.  Please  tell 
me  what  I  can  do  to  atone  for  a  past  for  which  I  can 
make  no  apology.  Do  you  wish  to  see  me  at  your  house 
again  ?  Am  I  to  be  shut  out  from  your  family,  and  shut 
up  here  in  a  palace  which  your  proscription  will  make  a 
prison  ?  If  I  cannot  have  the  respect  of  those  whom  I 
love  best,  I  may  as  well  die." 

The  tears  filled  my  eyes,  and  he  could  have  had  no 
doubt  as  to  the  genuineness  of  my  emotion,  though  he 
made  no  immediate  reply.  He  looked  at  me  gravely, 
and  hesitated  as  if  he  were  puzzled  as  to  the  best  way 
to  treat  me. 

.  At  length  he  said  :  "  Well,  Arthur,  I  am  glad  you 
have  got  as  far  as  this — that  you  have  discovered  that 
money  cannot  buy  everything,  and  that  there  are  things 
in  the  world  so  much  more  precious  than  money,  that 
money  itself  is  good  for  nothing  without  them.  It  is 
well,  at  least,  to  have  learned  so  much,  but  the  question 
with  me  is  :  how  far  will  this  conviction  be  permitted  to 
take  practical  hold  of  your  life  ?  What  are  your  plans  ? 
What  do  you  propose  to  do  to  redeem  yourself?  " 

"  I  will  do  anything,"  I  answered  warmly  and  impul 
sively. 

"  That  is  very  indefinite,"  he  responded,  "  and  if  you 
have  no  plans  there  is  no  use  in  our  talking  further  upon 
the  subject." 

"  What  would  you  have  me  do  ?  "  I  inquired,  with  a 
feeling  that  he  was  wronging  me. 

"Nothing — certainly  nothing  that  is  not  born  of  a 
principle.  If  there  is  no  higher  purpose  in  you  than  that 
of  regaining  the  good  opinion  of  your  friends  and  neigh 
bors,  you  will  do  nothing.  When  you  wish  to  become  a 
man  for  manhood's  sake,  your  purpose  of  life  and  work 


286  Arthur  Bonnicastle. 

will  come,  and  it  will  be  a  worthy  one.  When  your  life 
proceeds  from  a  right  principle,  you  will  secure  the  re 
spect  of  everybody,  though  you  will  care  very  little  about 
it — certainly  much  less  than  you  care  now.  My  approval 
will  avail  little ;  you  have  always  had  my  love  and  my 
faith  in  your  ability  to  redeem  yourself.  As  for  my  home 
it  is  always  open  to  you,  and  there  is  no  event  that  would 
make  it  brighter  for  me  than  to  see  you  making  a  man's 
use  of  your  splendid  opportunities." 

We  had  further  talk,  but  it  was  not  of  a  character  to 
reassure  me,  for  I  was  conscious  that  I  lacked  the  one 
thing  which  he  deemed  essential  to  my  improvement. 
Wealth,  with  its  immunities  and  delights,  had  debauched 
me,  and  though  I  craved  the  good  opinion  of  the  Brad- 
fords,  it  was  largely  because  I  had  associated  Millie  with 
my  future.  It  was  my  selfishness  and  my  natural  love 
of  approbation  that  lay  at  the  bottom  of  it  all  ;  and  as 
soon  as  I  comprehended  myself  I  saw  that  Mr.  Brad 
ford  understood  me.  He  had  studied  me  through  and 
through,  and  had  ceased  to  entertain  any  hope  of  im 
provement  except  through  a  change  of  circumstances. 

As  I  went  to  the  door  with  him,  and  looked  out  into 
the  night,  two  dark  figures  were  visible  in  the  middle  of 
the  road.  They  were  standing  entirely  still  when  the 
door  was  opened,  for  the  light  from  the  hall  revealed 
them.  They  immediately  moved  on,  but  the  sight  of 
them  arrested  Mr.  Bradford  on  the  step.  When  they 
had  passed  beyond  hearing,  he  turned  to  me  and,  in  a 
low  voice,  said  :  "  Look  to  all  your  fastenings  to-night. 
There  is  a  gang  of  suspicious  fellows  about  town,  and 
already  two  or  three  burglaries  have  been  committed. 
There  may  be  no  danger,  but  it  is  well  to  be  on  your 
guard." 

Though  I  was  naturally  nervous  and  easily  excited  in 
my  imagination,  I  was  by  no  means  deficient  in  physical 
courage,  and  no  child  in  physical  prowess.  I  was  not 


Arthur  Bonnicastle.  287 

afraid  of  anything  I  could  see  ;  but  the  thought  of  a 
night-visitation  from  ruffians  was  quite  enough  to  keep 
me  awake,  particularly  as  1  could  not  but  be  aware  that 
The  Mansion  held  much  that  was  valuable  and  portable, 
and  that  I  was  practically  alone.  Mr.  Bradford's  cau 
tion  was  quite  enough  to  put  all  my  senses  on  tension 
and  destroy  my  power  to  sleep.  That  there  were  men 
about  the  house  in  the  night  I  had  evidence  enough, 
both  while  I  lay  listening,  and,  on  the  next  morning, 
when  I  went  into  the  garden,  where  they  had  walked 
across  the  flower-beds. 

I  called  at  the  Bradfords'  the  next  day,  meeting  no 
one,  however,  save  Mr.  Bradford,  and  reported  what  I 
had  heard  and  seen.  He  looked  grave,  and  while  we 
were  speaking  a  neighbor  entered  who  reported  two 
burglaries  which  had  occurred  on  the  previous  night, 
one  of  them  at  a  house  beyond  The  Mansion. 

"  I  shall  spend  the  night  in  the  streets,"  said  Mr. 
Bradford  decidedly. 

"  Who  will  guard  your  own  house  ?  "  I  inquired. 

"  I  shall  depend  upon  Aunt  Flick's  ears  and  Dennis's 
hands,"  he  replied. 

Our  little  city  had  greatly  changed  in  ten  years.  The 
first  railroad  had  been  built,  manufactures  had  sprung 
up,  business  and  population  had  increased,  and  the 
whole  social  aspect  of  the  place  had  been  revolutionized. 
It  had  entirely  outgrown  its  unchanged  police  machinery 
and  appointments,  and  now,  when  there  was  a  call  for 
efficient  surveillance,  the  authorities  were  sadly  inade 
quate  to  the  occasion.  Under  Mr.  Bradford's  lead,  a 
volunteer  corps  of  constables  was  organized  and  sworn 
into  office,  and  a  patrol  established  which  promised  pro 
tection  to  the  persons  and  property  of  the  citizens. 

The  following  night  was  undisturbed.  No  suspicious 
men  were  encountered  in  the  street ;  and  the  second 
night  passed  away  in  the  same  peaceable  manner.  Sev- 


288  Arthur  Bonnicastle. 

eral  of  the  volunteer  constables,  supposing  that  the  dan 
ger  was  past,  declined  to  watch  longer,  though  Mr. 
Bradford  and  a  faithful  and  spirited  few  still  held  on. 
The  burglars  were  believed  by  him  to  be  still  in  the 
city,  under  cover,  and  waiting  either  for  an  opportunity 
to  get  away,  or  to  add  to  their  depredations.  I  do  not 
think  that  Mr.  Bradford  expected  his  own  house  to  be 
attacked,  but,  from  the  location  of  The  Mansion,  and 
Mrs.  Sanderson's  reputation  for  wealth,  I  know  that  he 
thought  it  more  than  likely  that  I  should  have  a  visit 
from  the  marauders.  During  these  two  nights  of  watch 
ing,  I  slept  hardly  more  than  on  the  night  when  I  dis 
covered  the  loiterers  before  the  house.  It  began  to  be 
painful,  for  I  had  no  solid  sleep  until  after  the  day  had 
dawned.  The  suspense  wore  upon  me,  and  I  dreaded 
the  night  as  much  as  if  I  had  been  condemned  to  pass 
it  alone  in  a  forest.  I  had  said  nothing  to  Jenks  or 
the  cook  about  the  matter,  and  was  all  alone  in  un 
consciousness  of  danger,  as  I  was  alone  in  the  power 
to  meet  it.  Under  these  circumstances,  I  called  upon 
Henry,  and  asked  as  a  personal  favor  that  he  would 
come  and  pass  at  least  one  night  with  me.  He  seemed 
but  little  inclined  to  favor  my  request,  and  probably 
would  not  have  done  so  had  not  a  refusal  seemed  like 
cowardice.  At  nine  o'clock,  however,  he  made  his  ap 
pearance  and  we  went  immediately  to  bed. 

Fortified  by  a  sense  of  protection  and  companionship, 
I  sank  at  once  into  a  slumber  so  profound  that  a  dozen 
men  might  have  ransacked  the  house  without  waking 
me.  Though  Henry  went  to  sleep,  as  he  afterward  told 
me,  at  his  usual  hour,  he  slept  lightly,  for  his  own  fears 
had  been  awakened  by  the  circumstances  into  which  I 
had  brought  him.  We  both  slept  until  about  one  o'clock 
in  the  morning,  when  there  came  to  me  in  the  middle  of 
a  dream  a  crash  which  was  incorporated  into  my  dream 
as  the  discharge  of  a  cannon  and  the  rattle  of  musketry, 


Arthur  Bonnicastle.  289 

followed  by  the  groans  of  the  dying.  I  awoke  bewil 
dered,  and  impulsively  threw  my  hand  over  to  learn 
whether  Henry  was  at  my  side.  I  found  the  clothes 
swept  from  the  bed  as  if  they  had  been  thrown  off  in  a 
sudden  waking  and  flight,  and  his  place  empty.  I  sprang 
to  my  feet,  conscious  at  the  same  time  that  a  struggle 
was  in  progress  near  me,  but  in  the  dark.  I  struck  a 
light,  and,  all  unclad  as  I  was,  ran  into  the  hall.  As 
I  passed  the  door,  I  heard  a  heavy  fall,  and  caught  a 
confused  glimpse  of  two  figures  embracing  and  rolling 
heavily  down  the  broad  stairway.  In  my  haste  I  almost 
tumbled  over  a  man  lying  upon  the  floor. 

"  Hold  on  to  him — here's  Arthur,"  the  man  shouted, 
and  I  recognized  the  voice  of  old  Jenks. 

"  What  are  you  here  for,  Jenks?"  I  shouted. 

"  I'm  hurt,"  said  Jenks,  "  but  don't  mind  me.  Hold 
on  to  him  !  hold  on  to  him  !  " 

Passing  Jenks,  I  rushed  down  the  staircase,  and  found 
Henry  kneeling  upon  the  prostrate  figure  of  a  ruffian, 
and  holding  his  hands  with  a  grip  of  iron.  My  light  had 
already  been  seen  in  the  street ;  and  I  heard  shouts  with 
out,  and  a  hurried  tramping  of  men.  I  set  my  candle 
down,  and  was  at  Henry's  side  in  an  instant,  asking  him 
what  to  do. 

"  Open  the  door,  and  call  for  help,"  he  answered  be 
tween  his  teeth.  "  I  am  faint  and  cannot  hold  on  much 
longer." 

I  sprang  to  the  door,  and  while  I  was  pushing  back 
the  bolt  was  startled  by  a  rap  upon  the  outside,  and  a 
call  which  I  recognized  at  once  as  that  of  Mr.  Bradford. 
Throwing  the  door  open,  he,  with  two  others,  leaped  in, 
and  comprehended  the  situation  of  affairs.  Closing  it 
behind  him,  Mr.  Bradford  told  Henry  to  let  the  fellow 
rise.  Henry  did  not  stir.  The  ruffian  lay  helplessly 
rolling  up  his  eyes,  while  Henry's  head  dropped  upon 
his  prisoner's  breast.  The  brave  fellow  was  badly  hurts 
19 


290  Arthur  Bonnicastle. 

and  had  fainted.  Mr.  Bradford  stooped  and  lifted  his 
helpless  form,  as  if  he  had  been  a  child,  and  bore  him 
upstairs,  while  his  companions  pinioned  his  antagonist, 
and  dragged  him  out  of  the  door,  where  his  associate 
stood  under  guard.  The  latter  had  been  arrested  while 
running  away,  on  the  approach  of  Mr.  Bradford  and  his 
posse. 

Depositing  his  burden  upon  a  bed,  Mr.  Bradford 
found  another  candle  and  came  down  to  light  it.  Giving 
hurried  directions  to  his  men  as  to  the  disposition  of 
the  arrested  burglars,  he  told  one  of  them  to  bring  Aunt 
Flick  at  once  from  his  house,  and  another  to  summon  a 
surgeon.  In  five  minutes  the  house  would  have  been 
silent  save  for  the  groanings  of  poor  old  Jenks,  who  still 
lay  where  he  fell,  and  the  screams  of  the  cook,  who  had, 
at  last,  been  awakefted  by  the  din  and  commotion. 

As  soon  as  Henry  began  to  show  signs  of  recovery 
from  his  fainting  fit  we  turned  our  attention  to  Jenks, 
who  lay  patiently  upon  the  floor,  disabled  partly  by  his 
fall,  and  partly  by  his  rheumatism.  Lifting  him  care 
fully,  we  carried  him  to  his  bed,  and  he  was  left  in  my 
care  while  Mr.  Bradford  went  back  to  Henry. 

Old  Jenks,  who  had  had  a  genuine  encounter  with  ruf 
fians  in  the  dark,  seemed  to  be  compensated  for  all  his 
hurts  and  dangers  by  having  a  marvellous  story  to  tell, 
and  this  he  told  to  me  in  detail.  He  had  been  wakened 
in  the  night  by  a  noise.  It  seemed  to  him  that  some 
body  was  trying  to  get  into  the  house.  He  lay  until  he 
felt  his  bed  jarred  by  some  one  walking  in  the  room 
below.  Then  he  heard  a  little  cup  rattle  on  his  table — 
a  little  cup  with  a  teaspoon  in  it.  Satisfied  that  there 
was  some  one  in  the  house  who  did  not  belong  in  it,  he 
rose,  and  undertook  to  make  his  way  to  my  room  for  the 
purpose  of  giving  me  the  information.  He  was  obliged  to 
reach  me  through  a  passage  that  led  from  the  back  part 
of  the  house.  This  he  undertook  to  do  in  the  stealthy  and 


Arthur  Bonnicastle.  291 

silent  fashion  of  which  he  was  an  accomplished  master, 
and  had  reached  the  staircase  that  led  from  the  grand 
hall,  when  he  encountered  the  intruder,  who,  taking  him 
at  once  for  an  antagonist,  knocked  him  down.  The 
noise  of  this  encounter  woke  Henry,  who  sprang  from 
his  bed,  and,  in  a  fierce  grapple  with  the  rascal,  threw 
him  and  rolled  with  him  to  the  bottom  of  the  staircase. 

I  could  not  learn  that  the  old  man  had  any  bones 
broken,  or  that  he  had  suffered  much  except  by  the 
shock  upon  his  nervous  system  and  the  cruel  jar  he  had 
received  in  his  rheumatic  joints.  After  a  while,  having 
administered  a  cordial,  I  left  him  with  the  assurance 
that  I  should  be  up  for  the  remainder  of  the  night,  and 
that  he  could  sleep  in  perfect  safety.  Returning  to  my 
room  I  found  Aunt  Flick  already  arrived,  and  busy  with 
service  at  Henry's  side.  The  surgeon  came  soon  after 
ward,  and  having  made  a  careful  examination,  declared 
that  Henry  had  suffered  a  bad  fracture  of  the  thigh,  and 
that  he  must  on  no  account  be  moved  from  the  house. 

At  this  announcement,  Mr.  Bradford,  Henry  and  I 
looked  at  one  another  with  a  pained  and  puzzled  expres 
sion.  We  said  nothing,  but  the  same  thought  was  run 
ning  through  our  minds.  Mrs.  Sanderson  must  know  of 
it,  and  how  would  she  receive  and  treat  it  ?  She  had  a 
strong  prejudice  against  Henry,  of  which  we  were  all 
aware.  Would  she  blame  me  for  the  invitation  that  had 
brought  him  there  ?  would  she  treat  him  well,  and  make 
him  comfortable  while  there  ? 

"  I  know  what  you  are  thinking  of,"  said  Aunt  Flick 
sharply,  "  and  if  the  old  lady  makes  a  fuss  about  it  I 
shall  give  her  a  piece  of  my  mind." 

"  Let  it  be  small,"  said  Henry,  smiling  through  his 
pain. 

The  adjustment  of  the  fracture  was  a  painful  and  te 
dious  process,  which  the  dear  fellow  bore  with  the  forti 
tude  that  was  his  characteristic.  Jt  was  hard  for  me  to 


292  Artliur  Bonnicastle. 

think  that  he  had  passed  through  his  great  danger  and 
was  suffering  this  pain  for  me,  though  to  tell  the  truth,  I 
half  envied  him  the  good  fortune  that  had  demonstrated 
his  prowess  and  had  made  him  for  the  time  the  hero  of 
the  town.  These  unworthy  thoughts  I  thrust  from  my 
mind,  and  determined  on  thorough  devotion  to  the  com 
panion  who  had  risked  so  much  for  me,  and  who  had 
possibly  been  the  means  of  saving  my  life. 

It  seemed,  in  the  occupation  and  absorption  of  the 
occasion,  but  an  hour  after  my  waking,  before  the  day 
began  to  dawn  ;  and  leaving  Aunt  Flick  with  Henry, 
Mr.  Bradford  and  I  retired  for  consultation. 

It  was  decided  at  once  that  Mrs.  Sanderson  would  be 
offended  should  we  withhold  from  her,  for  any  reason, 
the  news  of  what  had  happened  in  her  house.  The  ques 
tion  was  whether  she  should  be  informed  of  it  by  letter, 
or  whether  Mr.  Bradford  or  I  should  go  to  her  on  the 
morning  boat,  and  tell  her  the  whole  story,  insisting  that 
she  should  remain  where  she  was  until  Henry  could  be 
moved.  Mr.  Bradford  had  reasons  of  his  own  for  be 
lieving  that  it  was  best  that  she  should  get  her  intelli 
gence  from  me,  and  it  was  decided  that  while  he  re 
mained  in  or  near  the  house,  I  should  be  the  messenger 
to  my  aunt,  and  ascertain  her  plans  and  wishes. 

Accordingly,  bidding  Henry  a  hasty  good-morning, 
and  declining  a  breakfast  for  which  I  had  no  appetite,  I 
walked  down  to  the  steamer,  and  paced  her  decks  dur 
ing  all  her  brief  passage,  in  the  endeavor  to  dissipate 
the  excitement  of  which  I  had  not  been  conscious  until 
after  my  departure  from  the  house.  I  found  my  aunt 
and  Mrs.  Belden  enjoying  the  morning  breeze  on  the 
shady  piazza  of  their  hotel.  Mrs.  Sanderson  rose  with 
excitement  as  I  approached  her,  while  her  companion 
became  as  pale  as  death.  Both  saw  something  in  my 
face  that  betokened  trouble,  and  neither  seemed  able  to 
do  more  than  to  utter  an  exclamation  of  surprise.  Sev- 


Arthur  Bonnicastlc.  293 

eral  guests  of  the  house  being  near  us,  I  offered  my  arm 
to  Mrs.  Sanderson,  and  said  : 

"  Let  us  go  to  your  parlor  :  I  have  something  to  tell 
you." 

We  went  upstairs,  Mrs.  Belden  following  us.  When 
we  reached  the  door,  the  latter  said  :  "  Shall  I  come  in 
too?" 

"  Certainly,"  I  responded.  "  You  will  learn  all  I  have 
to  tell,  and  you  may  as  well  learn  it  from  me." 

We  sat  down  and  looked  at  one  another.  Then  I 
said  :  "  We  have  had  a  burglary." 

Both  ladies  uttered  an  exclamation  of  terror. 

"What  was  carried  away?"  said  Mrs.  Sanderson 
sharply. 

"  The  burglars  themselves,"  I  answered. 

"And  nothing  lost?" 

"  Nothing." 

"  And  no  one  hurt  ?  " 

"  I  cannot  say  that,"  I  answered.  "  That  is  the  sad 
dest  part  of  it.  Old  Jenks  was  knocked  down,  and  the 
man  who  saved  the  house  came  out  of  his  struggle  with 
a  badly  broken  limb." 

"  Who  was  he  ?     How  came  he  in  the  house  ?  " 

"  Henry  Hulm  ;  I  invited  him.  I  was  worn  out  with 
three  nights  of  watching." 

Mrs.  Sanderson  sat  like  one  struck  dumb,  while  Mrs. 
Belden,  growing  paler,  fell  in  a  swoon  upon  the  floor.  I 
lifted  her  to  a  sofa,  and  calling  a  servant  to  care  for  her, 
after  she  began  to  show  signs  of  returning  conscious 
ness,  took  my  aunt  into  her  bedroom,  closed  the  door, 
and  told  her  the  whole  story  in  detail.  I  cannot  say  that 
I  was  surprised  by  the  result.  She  always  had  the  readi 
est  way  of  submitting  to  the  inevitable  of  any  person*! 
ever  saw.  She  knew  at  once  that  it  was  best  for  her  to 
go  home,  to  take  charge  of  her  own  house,  to  superin 
tend  the  recovery  of  Henry,  and  to  treat  him  so  well 


294  Arthur  Bonnicastle. 

that  no  burden  of  obligation  should  rest  upon  her.  She 
knew  at  once  that  any  coldness  or  lack  of  attention  on 
her  part  would  be  condemned  by  all  her  neighbors.  She 
knew  that  she  must  put  out  of  sight  all  her  prejudice 
against  the  young  man,  and  so  load  him  with  attentions 
and  benefactions  that  he  could  never  again  look  upon 
her  with  indifference,  or  treat  her  with  even  constructive 
discourtesy. 

While  we  sat  talking,  Mrs.  Belden  rapped  at  the  door, 
and  entered. 

"  I  am  sure  we  had  better  go  home,"  she  said,  tremb 
lingly. 

"  That  is  already  determined,"  responded  my  aunt. 

With  my  assistance,  the  trunks  were  packed  long  be 
fore  the  boat  returned,  the  bills  at  the  hotel  were  settled, 
and  the  ladies  were  ready  for  the  little  journey. 

I  had  never  seen  Mrs.  Belden  so  thoroughly  deposed 
from  her  self-possession  as  she  seemed  all  the  way  home. 
Her  agitation,  which  had  the  air  of  impatience,  increased 
as  we  came  in  sight  of  Bradford,  and  when  we  arrived  at 
the  door  of  The  Mansion,  and  alighted,  she  could  hardly 
stand,  but  staggered  up  the  walk  like  one  thoroughly  ill. 
I  was  equally  distressed  and  perplexed  by  the  impression 
which  the  news  had  made  upon  her,  for  she  had  always 
been  a  marvel  of  equanimity  and  self-control. 

We  met  the  surgeon  and  Mr.  Bradford  at  the  door. 
They  had  good  news  to  tell  of  Henry,  who  had  passed  a 
quiet  day  ;  but  poor  old  Jenks  had  shown  signs  of  fever 
ish  reaction,  and  had  been  anxiously  inquiring  when  I 
should  return.  Aunt  Flick  was  busy  in  Henry's  room. 
My  aunt  mounted  at  once  to  the  young  man's  chamber 
with  the  surgeon  and  myself. 

Aunt  Flick  paused  in  her  work  as  we  entered,  made 
a  distant  bow  to  Mrs.  Sanderson,  and  waited  to  see 
what  turn  affairs  would  take,  while  she  held  in  reserve 
that  "  piece  of  her  mind"  which  contingently  she  had 


Arthur  Bonnicastle.  295 

determined  to  hurl  at  the  little  mistress  of  the  establish 
ment. 

It  was  with  a  feeling  of  triumph  over  both  Henry  and 
his  spirited  guardian,  that  I  witnessed  Mrs.  Sanderson's 
meeting  with  my  friend.  She  sat  down  by  his  bedside, 
and  took  his  pale  hand  in  both  her  own  little  hands,  say 
ing  almost  tenderly:  "  I  have  heard  all  the  story,  so  that 
there  is  nothing  to  say,  except  for  me  to  thank  you  for 
protecting  my  house,  and  to  assure  you  that  while  you 
remain  here  you  will  be  a  thousand  times  welcome,  and 
have  every  service  and  attention  you  need.  Give  your 
self  no  anxiety  about  anything,  but  get  well  as  soon  as 
you  can.  There  are  three  of  us  who  have  nothing  in  the 
world  to  do  but  to  attend  to  you  and  help  you." 

A  tear  stole  down  Henry's  cheek  as  she  said  this,  and 
she  reached  over  with  her  dainty  handkerchief,  and  wiped 
it  away  as  tenderly  as  if  he  had  been  a  child. 

I  looked  at  Aunt  Flick,  and  found  her  face  curiously 
puckered  in  the  attempt  to  keep  back  the  tears.  Then 
my  aunt  addressed  her,  thanking  her  for  her  service, 
and  telling  her  that  she  could  go  home  and  rest,  as  the 
family  would  be  quite  sufficient  for  the  nursing  of  the  in 
valid.  The  woman  could  not  say  a  word.  She  was  pre 
pared  for  any  emergency  but  this,  and  so,  bidding  Henry 
good-night,  she  retired  from  the  room  and  the  house. 

When  supper  was  announced,  Mrs.  Sanderson  and  I 
went  downstairs.  We  met  Mrs.  Belden  at  the  foot,  who 
declared  that  she  was  not  in  a  condition  to  eat  anything, 
and  would  go  up  and  sit  with  Henry.  We  tried  to  dis 
suade  her,  but  she  was  decided,  and  my  aunt  and  I 
passed  on  into  the  dining-room.  Remembering  when  I 
arrived  there  that  I  had  not  seen  Jenks,  I  excused  my 
self  for  a  moment,  and  as  silently  as  possible  remounted 
the  stairs.  As  I  passed  Henry's  door,  I  impulsively 
pushed  it  open.  It  made  no  noise,  and  there,  before  me, 
Mrs.  Belden  knelt  at  Henry's  bed,  with  her  arms  around 


296  Arthur  Bonnicastle. 

his  neck  and  her  cheek  lying  against  Jiis  own.  I  pulled 
back  the  door  as  noiselessly  as  I  had  opened  it,  and  half 
stunned  by  what  I  had  seen,  passed  on  through  the  pas 
sage  that  led  to  the  room  of  the  old  servant.  The  poor 
man  looked  haggard  and  wretched,  while  his  eyes  shone 
strangely  above  cheeks  that  burned  with  the  flush  of 
fever.  I  had  been  so  astonished  by  what  I  had  seen  that 
I  could  hardly  give  rational  replies  to  his  inquiries. 

"  I  doubt  if  I  weather  it,  Mr.  Arthur  ;  what  do  you 
think  ? "  said  he,  fairly  looking  me  through  to  get  at  my 
opinion. 

"  I  hope  you  will  be  all  right  in  a  few  days,"  I  re 
sponded.  "  Don't  give  yourself  any  care.  I'll  see  that 
you  are  attended  to." 

"  Thank  you.     Give  us  your  hand." 

I  pressed  his  hand,  attended  to  some  trifling  service 
that  he  required  of  me,  and  went  downstairs  with  a 
sickening  misgiving  concerning  my  old  friend.  He  was 
shattered  and  worn,  and,  though  I  was  but  little  con 
versant  with  disease,  there  was  something  in  his  appear 
ance  that  alarmed  me,  and  made  me  feel  that  he  had 
reached  his  death-bed. 

With  the  memory  of  the  scene  which  I  had  witnessed 
in  Henry's  room  fresh  in  my  mind,  with  all  its  strange 
suggestions,  and  with  the  wild,  inquiring  look  of  Jenks 
still  before  me,  I  had  little  disposition  to  make  conver 
sation.  Yet  I  looked  up  occasionally  at  my  aunt's  face, 
to  give  her  the  privilege  of  speaking,  if  she  were  dis 
posed  to  talk.  She,  however,  was  quite  as  much  ab 
sorbed  as  myself.  She  did  not  look  sad.  There  played 
around  her  mouth  a  quiet  smile,  while  her  eyes  shone 
with  determination  and  enterprise.  Was  it  possible  that 
she  was  thinking  that  she  had  Henry  just  where  she 
wanted  him?  Was  she  glad  that  she  had  in  her  house 
and  hands  another  spirit  to  mould  and  conquer  ?  Was 
she  delighted  that  something  had  come  for  her  to  do, 


Arthur  Bonnicastle.  297 

and  thus  to  add  variety  to  a  life  which  had  become  tame 
with  routine  ?  I  do  not  know,  but  it  seemed  as  if  this 
were  the  case. 

At  the  close  of  the  meal,  I  told  her  of  the  impression 
I  had  received  from  Jenks's  appearance,  and  begged 
her  to  go  to  his  room  with  me,  but  she  declined.  There 
was  one  presence  into  which  this  brave  woman  did  not 
wish  to  pass — the  presence  of  death.  Like  many  another 
strongly  vitalized  nature,  hers  revolted  at  dissolution. 
She  could  rise  to  the  opposition  of  anything  that  she 
could  meet  and  master,  but  the  dread  power  which  she 
knew  would  in  a  few  short  years,  at  most,  unlock  the 
clasp  by  which  she  held  to  life  and  her  possessions  filled 
her  with  horror.  She  would  do  anything  for  her  old  ser 
vant  at  a  distance,  but  she  could  not,  and  would  not, 
witness  the  process  through  which  she  knew  her  own 
frame  and  spirit  must  pass  in  the  transition  to  her  final 
rest. 

That  night  I  spent  mainly  with  Jenks,  while  Mrs.  Bel- 
den  attended  Henry.  This  was  according  to  her  own 
wish  ;  and  Mrs.  Sanderson  was  sent  to  bed  at  her  usual 
hour.  Whenever  I  was  wanted  for  anything  in  Henry's 
room,  Mrs.  Belden  called  me  ;  and,  as  Jenks  needed  fre 
quent  attention,  I  got  very  little  sleep  during  the  night. 

Mrs.  Sanderson  was  alarmed  by  my  haggard  looks  in 
the  morning,  and  immediately  sent  for  a  professional 
nurse  to  attend  her  servant,  and  declared  that  my  watch 
ing  must  be  stopped. 

Tired  with  staying  in-doors,  and  wishing  for  a  while  to 
separate  myself  from  the  scenes  that  had  so  absorbed 
me,  and  the  events  that  had  broken  so  violently  in  upon 
my  life,  I  took  a  long  stroll  in  the  fields  and  woods. 
Sitting  down  at  length  in  the  shade,  with  birds  singing 
above  my  head  and  insects  humming  around  me,  I 
passed  these  events  rapidly  in  review,  and  there  came 
to  me  the  conviction  that  Providence  had  begun  to  deal 


298  Arthur  Bonnicastle. 

with  me  in  earnest.  Since  the  day  of  my  entrance  upon 
my  new  life  at  The  Mansion,  I  had  met  with  no  trials 
that  I  had  not  consciously  brought  upon  myself.  Hard 
ship  I  had  not  known.  Sickness  and  death  I  had  not 
seen.  In  the  deep  sorrows  of  the  world,  in  its  struggles 
and  pains  and  self-denials,  I  had  had  no  part.  Now, 
change  had  come,  and  further  change  seemed  imminent. 
How  should  I  meet  it  ?  What  would  be  its  effect  upon 
me  ?  For  the  present  my  selfish  plans  and  pleasures 
must  be  laid  aside,  and  my  life  be  devoted  to  others. 
The  strong  hand  of  necessity  was  upon  me,  and  there 
sprang  up  within  me,  responsive  to  its  touch,  a  manly 
determination  to  do  my  whole  duty. 

Then  the  strange  scene  I  had  witnessed  in  Henry's 
room  came  back  to  me.  What  relations  could  exist  be 
tween  this  pair,  so  widely  separated  by  age,  that  war 
ranted  the  intimacy  I  had  witnessed  ?  Was  this  woman 
who  had  seemed  to  me  so  nearly  perfect  a  base  woman  ? 
Had  she  woven  her  toils  about  Henry  ?  Was  he  a  hyp 
ocrite  ?  Every  event  of  a  suspicious  nature  which  had 
occurred  was  passed  rapidly  in  review.  I  remembered 
his  presence  at  the  wharf  when  she  first  debarked  in  the 
city,  his  strange  appearance  when  he  met  her  at  the  Brad- 
fords'  for  the  first  time,  the  letter  I  had  carried  to  him 
written  by  her  hand,  the  terrible  effect  upon  her  of  the 
news  of  his  struggle  and  injury,  and  many  other  inci 
dents  which  I  have  not  recorded.  There  was  some  sym 
pathy  between  them  which  I  did  not  understand,  and 
which  filled  me  with  a  strange  misgiving,  both  on  ac 
count  of  my  sister  and  myself;  yet  I  knew  that  she  and 
Claire  were  the  closest  friends,  and  I  had  never  re 
ceived  from  her  anything  but  the  friendliest  treatment. 
Since  she  had  returned,  she  had  clung  to  his  room  and 
his  side  as  if  he  were  her  special  charge,  by  duty  and  by 
right.  One  thing  I  was  sure  of :  she  would  never  have 
treated  me  in  the  way  she  had  treated  him. 


Arthur  Bonnicastle.  299 

Then  there  came  to  me,  with  a  multitude  of  thoughts 
and  events  connected  with  my  past  history,  Mrs.  San 
derson's  singular  actions  regarding  the  picture  that  had 
formed  with  me  the  subject  of  so  many  speculations  and 
surmises.  Who  was  the  boy  ?  What  connection  had  he 
with  her  life  and  history  ?  Was  she  tired  of  me  ?  Was 
she  repentant  for  some  great  injustice  rendered  to  one 
she  had  loved  ?  Was  she  sorrowing  over  some  buried 
hope  ?  Did  I  stand  in  the  way  of  the  realization  of  some 
desire  which,  in  her  rapidly  declining  years,  had  sprung 
to  life  within  her  ? 

I  do  not  know  why  it  was,  but  there  came  to  me  the 
consciousness  that  events  were  before  me — ready  to  dis 
close  themselves — shut  from  me  by  a  thin  veil — which 
would  change  the  current  of  my  life ;  and  the  purpose  I 
had  already  formed  of  seeking  an  interview  with  Mr. 
Bradford  and  asking  him  the  questions  I  had  long  de 
sired  to  ask,  was  confirmed.  I  would  do  it  at  once.  I 
would  learn  my  aunt's  history,  and  know  the  ground  on 
which  I  stood.  I  would  pierce  the  mysteries  that  had 
puzzled  me  and  were  still  gathering  around  me,  and  front 
whatever  menace  they  might  bear. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

JENKS  GOES   FAR,  FAR  AWAY  UPON  THE  BILLOW  AND 
NEVER  COMES  BACK. 

ON  returning  to  the  house  I  found  myself  delayed  in 
the  execution  of  my  determination  by  the  increasing 
and  alarming  sickness  of  the  old  servant  Jenks,  and  by 
his  desire  that  I  should  be  near  him.  The  physician, 
who  was  called  at  once,  gave  us  no  hope  of  his  recovery, 


300  Arthur  Bonnicastlc. 

He  was  breaking  down  rapidly,  and  seemed  to  be  con 
scious  of  the  fact. 

On  the  following  morning,  after  I  had  spent  the  most 
of  the  night  in  his  room,  he  requested  the  nurse  to  retire, 
and  calling  me  to  his  bedside  said  he  wished  to  say  a 
few  words  to  me.  I  administered  a  cordial,  which  he 
swallowed  with  pain,  and  after  a  fit  of  difficult  breathing 
caused  by  the  effort,  he  said  feebly  :  "  It's  no  use,  Mr- 
Arthur;  I  can't  hold  on,  and  I  don't  think  I  want  to. 
It's  a  mere,  matter  of  staying.  I  should  never  work  any 
more,  even  if  I  should  weather  this." 

I  tried  to  say  some  comforting  words,  but  he  shook 
his  head  feebly,  and  simply  repeated  :  "  It's  no  use." 

"  What  can  I  do  for  you,  Jenks  ?  "  I, said. 

"  Do  you  know  Jim  Taylor's  wife  ?  "  he  inquired. 

"  I've  seen  her,"  I  replied. 

"  She's  a  hard-working  woman." 

"  Yes,  with  a  great  many  children." 

"  And  Jim  don't  treat  her  very  well,"  he  muttered. 

"  So  I've  heard." 

He  shook  his  head  slowly,  and  whispered  :  "  It's  too 
bad  ;  it's  too  bad." 

"  Don't  worry  yourself  about  Jim  Taylor's  wife  ;  she's 
nothing  to  you,"  I  said. 

"  Do  you  think  so  ? — nothing  to  me  ?  Don't  say  that ; 
I  can't  bear  it." 

"You  don't  mean  to  tell  me  that  Jim  Taylor's  wife 
is " 

He  nodded  his  head ;  and  I  saw  that  he  had  not  yet 
finished  what  he  had  to  say  about  her. 

"  Have  you  any  message  for  her  ?  "  I  inquired. 

"  Well,  you  know,  Mr.  Arthur,  that  she's  been  every 
thing  to  me,  and  I'd  like  to  do  a  little  something  for  her. 
You  don't  think  she'd  take  it  amiss  if  I  should  leave  her 
some  money,  do  you  ? " 

"  Oh,    no,    she's   very   poor,"  I   said.     "  I   think   she 


Arthur  Bonnie astle.  301 

would  be  very  grateful  for  anything  you  can  do  to  help 
her  along." 

His  eye  lighted,  and  a  feeble  smile  spread  over  his 
wizen  features. 

"  Pull  out  that  little  box  under  the  bed,"  he  said. 
"  The  key  is  ujider  my  pillow." 

I  placed  the  box  on  the  bed,  and,  after  fumbling  under 
his  pillow,  found  the  key  and  opened  the  humble  coffer. 

"There's  a  hundred  clean  silver  dollars  in  that  bag, 
that  I've  been  saving  up  for  her  for  thirty  years.  I  hope 
they'll  do  her  good.  Give  them  to  her,  and  don't  tell 
Jim.  Tell  her  Jenks  never  forgot  her,  and  that  she's 
been  everything  to  him.  Tell  her  I  was  sorry  she  had 
trouble,  and  don't  forget  to  say  that  I  never  blamed 
her." 

I  assured  him  that  I  would  give  her  the  money  and 
the  message  faithfully,  and  he  sank  back  into  his  pillow 
with  a  satisfied  look  upon  his  face  that  I  had  not  seen 
there  since  his  sickness.  The  long-contemplated  act 
was  finished,  and  the  work  of  his  life  was  done. 

After  lying  awhile  with  his  eyes  closed,  he  opened 
them  and  said  :  "  Do  you  s'pose  we  shall  know  one 
another  over  yonder  ?  " 

"  I  hope  so  ;   I  think  so,"  I  responded. 

"  If  she  comes  before  Jim,  I  shall  look  after  her.  Do 
you  dare  to  tell  her  that  ?  "  and  he  fixed  his  glazing  eyes 
upon  me  with  a  wild,  strained  look  that  thrilled  me. 

"  I  think  it  would  scare  her,"  I  answered.  "  Perhaps 
you  had  better  not  send  her  such  a  message." 

"  Well,  I  shall  look  after  her,  anyway,  if  I  get  a 
chance,  and  perhaps  both  of  'em  won't  go  to  one  place — 
and " 

What  further  possibilities  ran  through  the  old  man's 
imagination  I  do  not  know,  for  he  seemed  exhausted, 
and  ceased  to  speak.  I  sat  for  an  hour  beside  his  bed, 
while  he  sank  into  a  lethargic  slumber.  At  last  he  woke 


302  Arthur  Bonnicastle. 

and  stared  wildly  about  him.  Then  fixing  his  eyes  on 
me,  he  said  :  "  Now's  my  time  !  If  I'm  ever  going  to 
get  away  from  this  place  I  must  go  to-night !  " 

There  was  a  pathetic  and  poetic  appositeness  in  these 
words  to  the  facts  of  his  expiring  life  that  touched  me  to 
tears,  and  I  wiped  my  eyes.  Then  listening  to  some 
strange  singing  in  his  ears,  he  said  :  "  Doesn't  it  ram  ? 
Doesn't  it  pour  ?  You'll  take  cold,  my  boy,  and  so 
shall  I." 

The  thought  carried  him  back  over  the  years  to  the 
scene  in  the  stable  where  in  agony  I  knelt,  with  the  ele 
ments  in  tumult  above  me  and  his  arm  around  my  neck, 
and  prayed. 

"  Pray  again,  Arthur.     I  want  to  hear  you  pray." 

I  could  not  refuse  him,  but  knelt  at  once  by  his  bed, 
and  buried  my  face  in  the  clothes  by  his  side.  He  tried 
to  lift  his  hand,  but  the  power  to  do  so  was  gone.  I  recog 
nized  his  wish,  and  lifted  his  arm  and  placed  it  round 
my  neck.  It  was  several  minutes  before  I  could  com 
mand  my  voice,  and  then,  choking  as  on  the  evening 
which  he  had  recalled,  I  tried  to  commend  his  departing 
spirit  to  the  mercy  and  fatherly  care  of  Him  who  was  so 
soon  to  receive  it.  Having  prayed  for  him  it  was  easier 
to  pray  for  myself;  and  I  did  pray,  fervently  and  long. 
As  I  closed,  a  whispered  "  Amen  "  came  from  his  dying 
lips.  "  There,"  he  said  ;  "  let's  go  into  the  house  ;  it's 
warm  there."  There  was  something  in  these  words  that 
started  my  tears  again. 

After  this  his  mind  wandered,  and  in  his  delirium  the 
old  passion  of  his  life  took  full  possession  of  him. 

"  To-morrow  I  shall  be  far,  far  away  on  the  billow. 
....  The  old  woman  will  call  Jenks,  but  Jenks 
won't  be  here.  Jenks  will  be  gone !  .  .  .  .  This  is  the 
craft  :  up  with  her  sails  :  down  with  the  compasses  : 
My  !  how  she  slides  !  Run  her  straight  for  the  moon  ! 
....  Doesn't  she  cut  the  water  beautifully!  .... 


Arthur  Bonnicastle.  303 

The  sea  rolls  and  swings,  and  rolls  and  swings,  and  there 
are  the  islands!     I  see  'em  !    I  see  'em!  ....     It's  just 

like  a  cradle,  and  I  can't  keep  awake Oh,  I'm 

going  to  sleep  !  I'm — going — to — sleep Tell  the 

old  woman  I  bore  her  no  ill-will,  but  I  had  to  go 

I  was  obliged  to  go Straight  along  in  the  track 

of  the  moon." 

He  said  all  this  brokenly,  with  his  eyes  closed  ;  and 
then  he  opened  them  wide,  and  looked  around  as  if  sud 
denly  startled  out  of  sleep.  Then  life  went  out  of  them, 
and  there  came  on  that  quick,  short  breathing,  unmis 
takable  in  its  character,  even  to  a  novice,  and  I  rose 
and  called  the  nurse  and  Mrs.  Belden  to  witness  the 
closing  scene. 

So,  sailing  out  upon  that  unknown  sea  made  bright  by 
a  hovering  glory,  with  green  islands  in  view  and  the  soft 
waves  lapping  his  little  vessel,  escaping  from  all  his  la 
bors  and  pains,  and  realizing  all  his  dreams  and  aspira 
tions,  the  old  man  passed  away.  There  was  a  smile  upon 
his  face,  left  by  some  sweet  emotion.  If  he  was  hailed 
by  other  barks  sailing  upon  the  same  sea,  if  he  touched 
at  the  islands  and  plucked  their  golden  fruit,  if  there 
opened  to  his  expanding  vision  broader  waters  beyond 
the  light  of  the  moon,  and  bathing  the  feet  of  the  Eter 
nal  City,  we  could  not  know.  We  only  knew  that  his 
closing  thought  was  a  blessed  thought,  and  that  it  glori 
fied  the  features  which,  in  a  few  short  days,  would  turn 
to  dust.  It  was  delightful  to  think  that  the  harmless, 
simple,  ignorant,  dear  old  boy  had  passed  into  the  hands 
of  his  Father.  There  I  left  him  without  a  care — in  the 
I  hands  of  One  whose  justice  only  is  tenderer  than  His 
V^mercy,  and  whose  love  only  is  stronger  than  His  justice. 
The  superintendence  of  all  the  affairs  connected  with 
his  funeral  was  devolved  upon  me  ;  and  his  burial  was 
like  the  burial  of  an  old  playfellow.  I  could  not  have 
believed  that  his  death  would  grieve  me  so.  It  was  the 


304  Arthur  Bonnicastle. 

destruction  of  a  part  of  my  home.  Now  nothing  was  le.t 
but  a  single  frail  woman,  whose  years  were  almost  told  ; 
and  when  her  time  should  be  spent,  the  house  would  bo 
empty  of  all  but  myself,  and  those  whom  I  might  choose 
to  retain  or  procure. 

His  remains  were  followed  to  the  grave  by  Mrs.  San 
derson  and  myself  in  the  family  carriage,  and  by  the 
Bradfords,  with  some  humble  acquaintances.  His  rela 
tives  were  all  at  a  distance,  if  he  had  any  living,  or  they 
had  left  the  world  before  him.  The  house  seemed  more 
lonely  after  his  death  than  I  had  ever  felt  it  to  be  before, 
and  poor  Mrs.  Sanderson  was  quite  br'oken  down  by  the 
event.  The  presence  of  death  in  the  house  was  so  sad 
a  remembrancer  of  previous  occurrences  of  which  I  had 
had  no  knowledge,  and  was  a  suggestion  to  herself  of  the 
brevity  of  her  remaining  years,  that  she  was  wonderfully 
softened. 

She  had,  ever  since  her  return,  lived  apparently  in  a 
kind  of  dream.  There  was  something  in  Henry's  pres 
ence  and  voice  that  had  the  power  to  produce  this  ten 
der,  silent  mood,  and  Jenks's  death  only  deepened  and 
intensified  it. 

When  all  was  over,  and  the  house  had  resumed  its 
every-day  aspects  and  employments,  I  took  the  little  sum 
that  Jenks  had  saved  with  such  tender  care,  and  bore  it 
to  the  woman  who  had  so  inspired  his  affection  and 
sweetened  his  life.  I  found  her  a  hard-faced,  weary  old 
woman,  whose  life  of  toil  and  trouble  had  wiped  out 
every  grace  and  charm  of  womanhood  that  she  had  evei 
possessed.  She  regarded  my  call  with  evident  curiosity; 
and  when  I  asked  her  if  she  had  ever  known  Jenks,  and 
whether  anything  had  occurred  between  them  in  their 
early  life  that  would  make  him  remember  her  with  par 
ticular  regard,  she  smiled  a  grim,  hard  smile,  and  said: 
"  Not  much." 

"  What  was  it?     I  have  good  reason  for  inquiring." 


Arthur  Bonnicastle.  305 

"  Well,"  said  she,  "  he  wanted  me  to  marry  him,  and 
I  wouldn't.  That's  about  all.  You  see  he  was  a  kind 
of  an  innocent,  and  I  s'pose  I  made  fun  of  him.  Per 
haps  I've  had  my  pay  for't." 

"  Do  you  know  that  he  has  loved  you  dearly  all  his 
life  ;  that  he  has  pricked  your  name  into  his  arm,  and 
that  it  was  the  tenderest  and  sweetest  word  that  ever 
passed  his  lips  ;  that  the  thought  of  you  comforted  him 
at  his  work  and  mingled  with  all  his  dreams  ;  that  he 
would  have  gone  through  fire  and  water  to  serve  you  ; 
that  he  saved  up  money  all  his  life  to  give  you,  and  that 
he  hopes  you  will  die  before  your  husband,  so  that  he 
may  have  the  chance  to  care  for  you  in  the  other  country 
to  which  he  has  gone  ?  " 

As  I  uttered  these  words  slowly,  and  with  much  emo 
tion,  her  dull  eyes  opened  wider  and  wider,  and  filled 
with  tears  which  dropped  unregarded  from  her  cheeks. 
I  suppose  these  were  the  first  words  of  affection  that  had 
been  spoken  to  her  for  twenty  years.  Her  heart  had 
been  utterly  starved,  and  my  words  were  like  manna  to 
her  taste.  She  could  not  speak  at  first,  and  then  with 
much  difficulty  she  said  :  "  Are  you  telling  me  the 
truth  ?  " 

"  I  am  not  telling  you  half  of  the  truth.  He  loved 
you  a  thousand  times  more  devotedly  than  I  can  tell 
you.  He  would  have  worshipped  a  ribbon  that  you  had 
worn.  He  would  have  kissed  the  ground  on  which  you 
stepped.  He  would  have  been  your  slave.  He  would 
have  done  anything,  or  been  anything,  that  would  have 
given  you  pleasure,  even  though  he  had  never  won  a 
smile  in  return." 

Then  I  untied  the  handkerchief  in  which  I  had  brought 
the  old  man's  savings,  and  poured  the  heavy  silver  into 
her  lap.  She  did  not  look  at  it.  She  only  looked  into 
my  face  with  a  sad  gaze,  while  the  tears  filled  her  eyes 
anew. 


306  Arthur  Bonnicastle. 

"  I  don't  deserve  it :  I  don't  deserve  it,"  she  repeated 
in  a  hopeless  way,  "but  I  thank  you.  I've  got  some 
thing  to  think  of  besides  kicks  and  cuffs  and  curses.  No 
— they  won't  hurt  me  any  more." 

Her  eyes  brightened  then  so  that  she  looked  almost 
beautiful  to  me.  The  assurance  that  one  man,  even 
though  she  had  regarded  him  as  a  simpleton,  had  per 
sistently  loved  her,  had  passed  into  her  soul,  so  that  she 
was  strengthened  for  a  lifetime.  The  little  hoard  and 
the  love  that  came  with  it  were  a  mighty  re-enforcement 
against  all  the  trials  which  a  brutal  husband  and  for 
getful  children  had  brought  upon  her. 

I  left  her  sitting  with  her  treasure  still  in  her  lap, 
dreaming  over  the  old  days,  looking  forward  to  those 
that  remained,  and  thinking  of  the  man  who  would  have 
asked  for  no  sweeter  heaven  than  to  look  in  and  see  her 
thus  employed.  Afterward  I  saw  her  often.  She  at 
tended  the  church  which  she  had  long  forsaken,  with 
clothes  so  neat  and  comfortable  that  her  neighbors  won 
dered  where  and  how  she  had  managed  to  procure  them, 
and  took  up  the  burden  of  her  life  again  with  courage 
and  patience. 

She  went  before  Jim. 

Whom  she  found  waiting  on  the  other  side  of  that 
moonlit  sea  over  which  my  old  friend  had  sailed  home 
ward,  I  shall  know  some  time  ;  but  I  cannot  turn  my 
eyes  from  a  picture  which  my  fancy  sketches,  of  a  sweet 
old  man,  grown  wise  and  strong,  standing  upon  a  sunny 
beach,  with  arms  outstretched,  to  greet  an  in-going  shal 
lop  that  bears  still  the  name  of  all  the  vessels  he  had 
ever  owned — "  the  Jane  Whittlesey  !  " 


Arthur  Bonnicastle.  307 


CHAPTER   XX. 

MR.    BRADFORD    TELLS  ME  A  STORY   WHICH  CHANGES 
THE  DETERMINATIONS  OF  MY  LIFE. 

I  HAVE  already  alluded  to  the  effect  which  Henry's 
presence  produced  upon  Mrs.  Sanderson.  For  a  few 
days  after  her  return,  I  watched  with  covert  but  most 
intense  interest  the  development  of  her  acquaintance 
with  him.  Mrs.  Belden  had  been  for  so  long  a  time  her 
companion,  and  was  so  constantly  at  Henry's  bedside, 
that  my  aunt  quickly  took  on  the  habit  of  going  in  to  sit 
for  an  hour  with  the  lady  and  her  charge.  I  was  fre 
quently  in  and  out,  doing  what  I  could  for  my  friend's 
amusement,  and  often  found  both  the  ladies  in  attend 
ance.  Mrs.  Sanderson  always  sat  at  the  window  in  an 
old-fashioned  rocking-chair,  listening  to  the  conversa 
tion  between  Mrs.  Belden  and  Henry.  Whenever  Hen 
ry  laughed,  or  uttered  an  exclamation,  she  started  and 
looked  over  to  his  bed,  as  if  the  sounds  were  familiar, 
or  as  if  they  had  a  strange  power  of  suggestion.  There 
was  some  charm  in  his  voice  and  look  to  which  she  sub 
mitted  herself  more  and  more  as  the  days  went  by — a 
charm  so  subtle  that  I  doubt  whether  she  understood  it 
or  was  conscious  of  its  power. 

Two  or  three  days  passed  after  I  had  executed  Jenks's 
will,  with  relation  to  his  savings,  when  my  old  resolution 
to  visit  Mr.  Bradford  recurred.  In  the  meantime,  I  felt 
that  I  had  won  strength  from  my  troubles  and  cares,  and 
was  better  able  to  bear  trial  than  I  had  ever  been  be 
fore.  I  was  little  needed  in  the  house,  now  that  Jenks 
was  gone,  so,  one  morning  after  breakfast,  I  started  to 
execute  my  purpose.  As  I  was  taking  my  hat  in  the 
hall,  there  came  a  rap  upon  the  door,  and  as  I  stood 
near  it  I  opened  it  and  encountered  Millie  Bradford. 


308  ArtJinr  Bonnicastlc. 

She  met  me  with  a  cordiality  that  spoke  her  friendship, 
but  with  a  reserve  which  declared  that  the  old  relations 
between  us  had  ceased.  I  know  that  I  blushed  pain 
fully,  for  she  had  been  much  in  my  thoughts,  and  it 
seemed,  somehow,  that  she  must  have  been  conscious 
of  the  fact.  I  knew,  too,  that  I  had  disappointed  and 
shamed  her. 

"  My  father  is  busy  this  morning,  Mr.  Bonnicastle," 
she  said,  "  and  I  have  been  sent  up  to  inquire  after  the 
invalid." 

Ah,  how  her  "Mr.  Bonnicastle"  removed  me  from 
her !  And  how  much  more  lovely  she  seemed  to  me 
than  she  had  ever  seemed  before  !  Dressed  in  a  snowy 
morning  wrapper,  with  a  red  rose  at  her  throat,  and  only 
a  parasol  to  shade  her  black  hair  and  her  luminously 
tender  eyes,  and  with  all  the  shapely  beauty  in  her  fig 
ure  that  the  ministry  of  seventeen  gracious  years  could 
bestow,  she  seemed  to  me  almost  a  goddess. 

I  invited  her  in,  and  called  my  aunt.  Mrs.  Belden 
heard  her  voice  soon  afterward  and  came  down,  and  we 
had  a  pleasant  chat.  As  soon  as  Mrs.  Belden  appeared, 
I  noticed  that  Millie  addressed  all  her  inquiries  concern 
ing  Henry  to  her,  and  that  there  seemed  to  be  a  very 
friendly  intimacy  between  them. 

When,  at  last,  the  girl  rose  to  go,  I  passed  into  the 
hall  with  her,  and  taking  my  hat,  said  :  "Miss  Brad 
ford,  I  was  about  to  go  to  your  house  for  a  business  call 
upon  your  father,  when  you  came  in.  May  I  have  the 
pleasure  of  walking  home  with  you  ?  " 

"  Oh  certainly,"  she  replied,  though  with  a  shadow  of 
reluctance  in  her  look,  "  but  I  fear  your  walk  will  be 
fruitless.  My  father  has  gentlemen  with  him,  and  per 
haps  will  not  be  at  liberty  to  see  you." 

"  Still,  with  your  leave  I  will  go.  I  shall  win  a  walk 
at  least,"  I  responded. 

The  moment   I  was  alone  with  her,  I   found  myself 


Arthur  Bonnicastle.  309 

laboring  under  an  embarrassment  that  silenced  me.  It 
was  easy  to  talk  in  the  presence  of  others,  but  it  was 
"  Arthur  "  and  "  Millie  "  no  more  between  us. 

She  noticed  my  silence,  and  uttered  some  common 
place-  remark  about  the  changes  that  had  taken  place  in 
the  city. 

"  Yes,"  I  said,  "  I  see  they  have  the  cathedral  finished 
yonder." 

"  Entirely,"  she  responded,  "  and  the  little  chapel  in 
side  has  been  torn  down." 

How  much  she  meant  by  this,  or  whether  she  intended 
any  allusion  to  the  old  conversation,  every  word  of  which 
I  recollected  so  vividly,  I  could  not  tell,  but  I  gave  her 
the  credit  of  possessing  as  good  a  memory  as  myself, 
and  so  concluded  that  she  considered  Arthur  Bonnicastle, 
the  boy,  as  a  person  dead  and  gone,  and  Mr.  Bonni 
castle  the  young  man  as  one  whom  she  did  not  know. 

As  we  came  in  sight  of  her  house,  we  saw  three  gen 
tlemen  at  the  door.     Two  of  them  soon  left,  and  the 
third,  who  was  Mr.  Bradford,  went  back  into  the  house. 

"  I  believe  those  two  men  are  my  father  and  Mr. 
Bird,"  I  said.  "  I  don't  think  I  can  be  mistaken." 

"  You  are  not  mistaken,"  she  responded,  looking 
flushed  and  troubled. 

"What  can  they  want  of  your  father  at  this  time  of 
the  morning?  "  I  said. 

She  made  no  reply,  but  quickened  her  steps,  as  if  she 
wished  to  shorten  the  interview.  Whatever  their  busi 
ness  was,  I  felt  sure  that  she  understood  its  nature,  and 
almost  equally  sure  that  it  related  to  myself.  I  knew 
that  the  three  had  met  at  New  Haven  ;  and  I  had  no 
doubt  that  they  had  the  same  business  on  hand  now  that 
they  had  then.  I  determined  to  learn  it  before  I  left  the 
house. 

As  we  approached  the  gate,  she  suddenly  turned  to 
me  in  her  impulsive  way,  an:i  said  : 


3IO  Arthur  Bonnicastle. 

"  Arthur  Bonnicastle,  are  you  strong  this  morning  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  I  replied,  "  I  can  meet  anything." 

"  I  am  glad  ;  I  believe  you." 

That  was  all.  As  we  mounted  the  steps  we  found  Mr. 
Bradford  sitting  before  the  open  door,  reading,  or  pre 
tending  to  read,  a  newspaper. 

"Here's  Mr.  Bonnicastle,  father,"  Millie  said,  and 
passed  through  the  hall  and  out  of  sight. 

Mr.  Bradford  rose  and  gave  me  his  hand.  My  coming 
had  evidently  agitated  him,  though  he  endeavored  to 
bear  himself  calmly. 

"  I  wish  to  ask  you  some  questions,  and  to  talk  with 
you,"  I  said. 

"  Let  us  go  where  we  can  be  alone,  he  responded, 
leading  the  way  into  a  little  library  or  office  which  I  had 
never  seen  before.  Throwing  open  the  shutters,  and 
seating  himself  by  the  window,  at  the  same  time  point 
ing  me  to  a  chair  opposite  to  him,  he  said  :  "  Now  for 
the  questions." 

"  I  want  you  to  tell  me  what  person  is  represented  by 
the  picture  of  a  boy  in  Mrs.  Sanderson's  dining-room." 

"  Her  own  son,  and  her  only  child,"  he  replied. 

"  Is  he  living  or  dead  ?  " 

"  He  is  dead." 

"  Will  you  tell  me  his  history  ?  "  I  said. 

He  hesitated  a  moment,  looking  out  of  the  window, 
and  then  replied  slowly  :  "  Yes,  I  will.  It  is  time  you 
should  know  it,  and  everything  connected  with  it.  Have 
you  leisure  to  hear  it  now  ?  " 

"Yes.     That  is  my  business  here  this  morning." 

"  Then  I  must  begin  at  the  beginning,"  he  replied. 
"  I  suppose  you  may  have  learned  before  this  time  that 
Mrs.  Sanderson  was  a  Bonnicastle." 

"  I  know  it,"  I  said. 

"  You  have  learned,  too,  that  she  is  a  wilful  woman. 
In  her  youth,  at  least,  she  was  unreasonably  -o.  She 


Arthur  Bonnicastlc.  311 

was  an  heiress,  and,  in  her  young  days,  was  pretty.  For 
fifty  miles  around  she  was  regarded  as  the  finest "  catch  " 
within  the  reach  of  any  ambitious  young  man.  Her  suit 
ors  were  numerous,  and  among  them  was  the  one  to  whom, 
against  the  wishes  of  her  parents,  she  at  last  gave  her 
hand.  He  was  handsome,  bright,  gallant,  bold  and  vi 
cious.  It  was  enough  for  her  that  her  parents  opposed 
his  attentions  and  designs  to  secure  for  him  her  sympathy. 
It  was  enough  for  her  that  careful  friends  warned  her 
against  him.  She  turned  a  deaf  ear  to  them  all,  and  be 
came  fixed  in  her  choice  by  the  opposition  she  encoun 
tered.  To  the  sorrow  of  those  who  loved  her  and  wished 
her  well,  she  was  married  to  him.  Her  parents,  living 
where  she  lives  now,  did  the  best  they  could  to  secure  her 
happiness,  and  opened  their  home  to  their  new  son-in-law, 
but  witnessing  his  careless  treatment  of  their  daughter, 
and  his  dissipations,  died  soon  afterward  of  disappointed 
hopes  and  ruined  peace. 

"The  death  of  her  parents  removed  all  the  restraint 
which  had  hitherto  influenced  him,  and  he  plunged  into 
a  course  of  dissipation  and  debauchery  which  made  the 
life  of  his  wife  an  unceasing  torment  and  sorrow.  He 
gambled,  he  kept  the  grossest  companions  around  him, 
he  committed  a  thousand  excesses,  and  as  he  had  to  do 
with  a  will  as  strong  as  his  own,  the  domestic  life  of 
The  Mansion  was  notoriously  inharmonious. 

"  After  a  few  years,  a  child  was  born.  The  baby  was 
a  boy,  and  over  this  event  the  father  indulged  in  a  de 
bauch  from  which  he  never  recovered.  Paralysis  and  a 
softened  brain  reduced  him  in  a  few  months  to  essential 
idiocy,  and  when  he  died  the  whole  town  gave  a  sigh  of 
relief.  Self-sufficient  in  her  nature,  your  aunt  was  self- 
contained  in  her  mortification  and  sorrow.  No  one  ever 
heard  a  complaint  from  her  lips,  and  no  one  ever  dared 
to  mention  the  name  of  her  husband  to  her  in  any  terms 
but  those  of  respect.  His  debts  were  paid,  and  as  his 


312  Artliur  Bonnicasllc. 

time  of  indulgence  had  been  comparatively  short,  her 
large  fortune  was  not  seriously  impaired. 

"  Then  she  gave  herself  up  to  the  training  of  her 
boy.  I  think  she  saw  in  him  something  of  the  nature  of 
his  father,  and  set  herself  to  the  task  of  curbing  and 
killing  it.  No  boy  in  Bradford  ever  had  so  rigid  a  train 
ing  as  Henry  Sanderson.  She  did  not  permit  him  to 
leave  her  sight.  All  his  early  education  was  received  at 
her  hands.  Every  wish,  every  impulse,  even  every  as 
piration  of  the  child,  was  subjected  to  the  iron  rule  of 
her  will.  No  slave  that  ever  lived  was  more  absorbed, 
directed  and  controlled  by  his  master  than  this  unfortu 
nate  child  was  by  his  mother.  Not  one  taste  of  liberty 
did  he  ever  know,  until  she  was  compelled  to  send  him 
away  from  her  to  complete  his  education.  The  portrait 
of  him  which  has  excited  your  curiosity  for  so  many 
years  was  painted  when  he  was  less  than  twelve  years 
old,  though  he  was  not  permitted  to  leave  his  home  until 
some  years  later. 

"  I  was  young  at  that  time  myself,  though  I  was  older 
than  Henry — young  enough,  at  least,  to  sympathize  with 
him,  and  to  wish,  with  other  boys,  that  we  could  get  him 
away  from  her  and  give  him  one  taste  of  social  freedom 
and  fellowship.  When  she  rode  he  was  with  her,  look 
ing  wistfully  and  smilingly  out  upon  the  boys  wherever 
he  saw  them  playing,  and  when  she  walked  she  held  his 
hand  until  he  was  quite  as  large  as  herself.  Every  act 
of  his  life  was  regulated  by  a  rule  which  consulted  nei 
ther  his  wish  nor  his  reason.  He  had  absolutely  no 
training  of  his  own  will — no  development  within  his  own 
heart  of  the  principles  of  right  conduct,  no  exercise  of 
liberty  under  those  wise  counsels  and  restraints  which 
would  lead  him  safely  up  to  the  liberty  of  manhood.  He 
was  simply  her  creature,  her  tool,  her  puppet,  slavishly 
obedient  to  her  every  wish  and  word.  He  was  treated 
as  if  he  were  a  wild  animal,  whom  she  wished  to  tame— 


ArtJiur  Bonnicastle.  313 

an  animal  without  affection,  without  reason,  without  any 
rights  except  those  which  she  might  give  him.  She  was 
determined  that  he  should  not  be  like  his  father. 

"  I  have  no  doubt  that  she  loved  this  child  with  all  the 
strength  of  her  strong  nature,  for  she  sacrificed  society 
and  a  thousand  pleasures  for  the  purpose  of  carrying  out 
her  plans  concerning  him.  She  would  not  leave  him  at 
home  with  servants  any  more  than  she  would  give  him 
the  liberty  of  intercourse  with  other  children,  and  thus 
she  shut  herself  away  from  the  world,  and  lived  wholly 
with  and  for  him. 

"  He  was  fitted  for  college  in  her  own  house,  by  the 
tuition  of  a  learned  clergyman  of  the  town,  who  was 
glad  to  eke  out  a  scanty  professional  maintenance  by  at 
tending  her  son,  though  she  was  present  at  every  reci 
tation,  and  never  left  him  for  a  moment  in  the  tutor's 
company. 

"  When  the  work  of  preparation  was  completed,  she 
went  through  the  terrible  struggle  of  parting  with  her 
charge,  and  sending  him  away  from  her  for  the  first 
time.  He  went  from  her  as  dependent  and  self-distrust 
ful  as  a  child  of  three — a  trembling,  bashful,  wretched 
boy,  and  came  back  in  less  than  a  year  just  what  any 
wise  man  would  have  anticipated — a  rough,  roystering, 
ungovernable  fellow,  who  laughed  at  his  mother,  turned 
her  orderly  home  into  a  pandemonium,  flouted  her  au 
thority,  and  made  her  glad  before  his  vacation  ended  to 
send  him  back  again,  out  of  her  sight.  Untrained  in 
self-control  and  the  use  of  liberty,  he  went  into  all  ex 
cesses,  and  became  the  one  notorious  rowdy  of  the  college. 
He  was  rusticated  more  than  once,  and  would  have  been 
expelled  but  for  the  strong  influence  which  his  mother 
brought  to  bear  upon  the  government  of  the  college. 

"After  his  graduation,  he  was  fora  time  at  home; 
but  Bradford  was  too  small  to  cover  up  his  debauch 
eries  and  immoralities.  He  had  all  the  beauty  and 


314  Arthur  Bonnicastle. 

boldness  of  his  father,  and  inherited  his  dominant  ani« 
mal  nature.  After  a  long  quarrel  with  his  mother,  he 
made  an  arrangement  with  her  by  which  he -was  allowed 
a  generous,  annuity,  and  with  this  he  went  away,  drifting 
at  last  to  New  Orleans.  There  he  found  college  class 
mates  who  knew  of  his  mother's  wealth,  and  as  he  had 
money  enough  to  dress  like  a  gentleman,  he  was  ad 
mitted  at  once  into  society,  and  came  to  be  regarded  as 
a  desirable  match  for  any  one  of  the  many  young  wo 
men  he  met.  He  lived  a  life  of  gayety,  gambled  with 
the  fast  men  into  whose  society  he  was  thrown,  and  at 
last  incurred  debts  which,  in  desperation,  he  begged 
his  mother  to  pay,  promising  in  return  immediate  and 
thorough  reform.  After  a  long  delay  his  request  was 
granted  ;  and  I  have  no  doubt  that  he  honestly  under 
took  the  reform  he  had  promised,  for  at  this  time  he  be 
came  acquainted  with  a  woman  whose  influence  over 
him  was  purifying  and  ennobling,  and  well  calculated  to 
inspire  and  fortify  all  his  good  resolutions.  She  was  not 
rich,  but  she  belonged  to  a  good  family,  and  was  well 
educated. 

"  Of  course  he  showed  her  only  his  amiable  side  ;  and 
the  ardent  love  she  inspired  in  him  won  her  heart,  and 
she  married  him.  At  this  time  he  was  but  twenty-five 
years  old.  His  mother  had  been  looking  forward  wearily 
to  the  hour  when  he  would  see  the  folly  of  his  course, 
would  complete  the  sowing  of  his  wild  oats,  and  be  glad 
to  return  to  his  home.  She  had  her  own  ambitious  pro 
jects  concerning  a  matrimonial  alliance  for  him  ;  and 
when  he  married  without  consulting  her,  and  married 
one  who  was  poor,  her  anger  was  without  bounds.  Im 
pulsively  she  sat  down  and  wrote  him  the  crudest  letter 
that  it  was  in  her  power  to  write,  telling  him  that  the  al 
lowance  which  she  had  hitherto  sent  him  would  be  sent 
to  him  no  longer,  and  that  her  property  would  be  left  to 
others. 


Arthur  Bonnicastle.  315 

"  The  blow  was  one  from  which  he  never  recovered 
He  was  prostrated  at  once  upon  a  bed  of  sickness, 
which,  acting  upon  a  system  that  had  been  grossly 
abused,  at  last  carried  him  to  his  grave.  Once  during 
this  sickness  his  wife  wrote  to  his  mother  a  note  of  en 
treaty,  so  full  of  tender  love  for  her  sick  and  dying  hus 
band,  and  so  appealing  in  its  Christian  womanliness, 
that  it  might  well  have  moved  a  heart  of  stone  ;  but  it 
found  no  entrance  at  a  door  which  disappointed  pride 
had  closed.  The  note  was  never  answered,  and  was  un 
doubtedly  tossed  into  the  fire,  that  the  receiver  might 
never  be  reminded  of  it. 

"  The  son  and  husband  died,  and  was  buried  by  alien 
hands,  and  his  mother  never  saw  his  face  again." 

Here  Mr.  Bradford  paused,  as  if  his  story  was  finished. 

"  Is  this  all?"  I  asked. 

"  It  is,  in  brief,  the  history  of  the  boy  whose  portrait 
you  have  inquired  about,"  he  replied. 

"  What  became  of  his  widow?  "  I  inquired. 

"  She  returned-to  her  parents,  and  never  wrote  a  word 
to  Mrs.  Sanderson.  She  had  been  treated  by  her  in  so 
cruel  a  manner  that  she  could  not.  Afterward  she  mar 
ried  again,  and,removed,  I  have  since  learned,  to  one  of 
the  Northern  States." 

I  sat  in  silence  for  some  moments,  a  terrible  question 
burning  in  my  throat,  which  I  dared  not  utter.  I  felt 
myself  trembling  in  every  nerve.  I  tried  to  thrust  the 
question  from  me,  but  it  would  not  go. 

Then  Mr.  Bradford,  who,  I  doubt  not,  read  my 
thoughts,  and  did  not  feel  ready  to  answer  my  question, 
said:  "You  see  how  differently  Mrs.  Sanderson  has 
treated  you.  I  have  no  doubt  that  she  reasoned  the 
matter  all  out,  and  came  to  the  conclusion  that  she  had 
acted  unwisely.  I  have  no  doubt,  though  she  never  ac 
knowledged  it  to  any  one,  that  she  saw  the  reason  of  the 
failure  of  the  plan  of  training  which  she  adopted  in  the 


3 1 6  A  rth  u  r  Bo  n  n  icastle. 

case  of  her  son,  and  determined  upon  another  one  foi 
you." 

"  And  that  has  failed  too,"  I  said  sadly. 

"  Yes  :  i  mean  no  reproach  and  no  unkindness  when 
I  frankly  say  that  I  think  it  has.  Both  plans  ignored 
certain  principles  in  human  nature  which  must  be  recog 
nized  in  all  sound  training.  No  true  man  was  ever  made 
either  by  absorbing  and  repressing  his  will,  or  by  re 
moving  from  him  all  stimulus  to  manly  endeavor." 

"  Do  you  think  my  aunt  cares  much  for  these  things 
that  happened  so  long  ago  ?  "  I  inquired. 

"  Yes,  I  think  that  she  cares  for  them  more  and  more 
as  the  days  go  by,  and  bring  her  nearer  to  her  grave. 
She  has  softened  wonderfully  within  a  few  years,  and  I 
have  no  doubt  that  they  form  the  one  dark,  ever-present 
shadow  upon  her  life.  As  she  feels  the  days  of  helpless 
ness  coming,  she  clings  more  to  companions,  and  misses 
the  hand  that,  for  sixteen  long  and  laborious  years,  she 
tried  to  teach  obedience,  and  train  into  helpfulness 
against  the  emergency  that  is  almost  upon  her.  She 
mourns  for  her  child.  She  bewails  in  secret  her  mis 
takes  ;  and,  while  she  is  true  to  you  to-day,  I  have  no 
doubt  that  if  the  son  of  her  youth  could  come  to  her  in 
rags  and  wretchedness,  with  all  his  sins  upon  him,  and 
with  the  record  of  his  ingratitude  unwashed  of  its  stains, 
she  would  receive  him  with  open  arms,  and  be  almost 
content  to  die  at  once  in  his  embrace." 

The  tears  filled  my  eyes,  and  I  said  :  "  Poor  woman ! 
I  wish  he  could  come." 

Mr.  Bradford's  observations  and  conclusions  with  re 
gard  to  her  coincided  with  my  own.  I  had  noticed  this 
change  coming  over  her.  I  had  seen  her  repeatedly 
standing  before  the  picture.  I  had  witnessed  her  ab 
sorption  in  revery.  Even  from  the  first  day  of  my  ac 
quaintance  with  her  I  saw  the  change  had  been  in  prog 
ress.  Her  heart  had  been  unfed  so  long  that  it  had 


Arthur  Bonnicastle.  31? 

begun  to  starve.  She  had  clung  more  and  more  to  m". , 
she  had  lived  more  and  more  in  the  society  of  Mrs.  Bei- 
den  ;  and  now  that  Henry  had  become  an  inmate  of  her 
house,  she  evidently  delighted  to  be  in  his  presence. 
Her  strong  characteristics  often  betrayed  themselves  in 
her  conduct,  but  they  were  revealed  through  a  tenderer 
atmosphere.  I  pitied  her  profoundly,  and  I  saw  how 
impossible  it  was  for  me,  under  any  circumstances,  to 
fill  the  place  in  her  heart  of  one  who  had  been  nursed 
upon  it. 

We  went  on  talking  upon  various  unimportant  matters, 
both  of  us  fighting  away  from  the  question  which  each 
of  us  felt  was  uppermost  in  the  other's  mind.  At  last, 
summoning  all  my  resolution  and  courage,  I  said  :  "  Was 
there  any  child  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"Is  that  child  living?" 

"  Yes  ;  I  think  so— yes." 

I  knew  that  at  this  reply  to  my  question  the  blood 
wholly  forsook  my  face.  My  head  swam  wildly,  and  I 
reeled  heavily  upon  my  feet,  and  came  close  to  the  win 
dow  for  air.  Mr.  Bradford  sprang  up,  and  drew  my 
chair  close  to  where  I  stood,  and  bade  me  be  seated.  I 
felt  like  a  man  drifting  resistlessly  toward  a  precipice. 
The  rocks  and  breakers  had  been  around  me  for  days, 
and  I  had  heard  indistinctly  and  afar  the  roar  of  tum 
bling  waters ;  but  now  the  sound  stunned  my  ears,  and  I 
knew  that  my  hurrying  bark  would  soon  shoot  into  the 
air,  and  pitch  with  me  into  the  abyss. 

"  Does  Mrs.  Sanderson  know  of  this  child  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  think  she  does.  There  has  been  no  one  to 
tell  her.  She  communicates  with  no  one,  and  neither 
child  nor  mother  would  ever  make  an  approach  to  her 
in  any  assertion  of  their  relations  to  her,  even  if  it  were 
to  save  them  from  starving.  But  the  man  undoubtedly 
lives  to-day  to  whom  Mrs.  Sanderson's  wealth  will  be 


318  Arthur  Bonnicastle. 

long  by  every  moral  and  natural  right,  when  she  shall 
have  passed  away." 

The  truth  had  come  at  last,  and  although  1  had  antici 
pated  it,  it  was  a  plunge  into  warring  waters  that  im 
pelled,  and  held,  and  whelmed,  and  tossed  me  like  some 
poor  weed  they  had  torn  from  sunny  banks  far  away  and 
above.  Would  they  play  with  me  for  an  hour,  and  then 
carry  me  with  other  refuse  out  to  the  sea,  or  would  they 
leave  me  upon  the  shore,  to  take  root  again  in  humbler 
soil  and  less  dangerous  surroundings  ?  I  did  not  know. 
For  the  moment  I  hardly  cared. 

Nothing  was  said  for  a  long  time.  I  looked  with  com 
pressed  lips  and  dry  eyes  out  of  the  window,  but  I  knew 
that  Mr.  Bradford's  eyes  were  upon  me.  I  could  not  but 
conclude  that  it  was  the  intention  of  my  friends  that  Mrs. 
Sanderson  should  be  informed  that  her  grandson  was  liv 
ing,  else  Mr.  Bradford  would  not  have  told  me.  I  knew 
that  Mrs.  Sanderson  had  arrived  at  that  point  in  life 
when  such  information  would  come  to  her  like  a  voice 
from  heaven.  I  knew  that  the  fortune  I  had  anticipated 
was  gone  ;  that  my  whole  scheme  of  life  was  a  shattered 
dream  ;  that  I  was  to  be  subjected  to  the  task  of  taking 
up  and  bearing  unassisted  the  burden  of  my  destiny  ; 
that  everybody  must  know  my  humiliation,  and  that  in 
my  altered  lot  and  social  position  I  could  not  aspire  to 
the  hand  of  the  one  girl  of  all  the  world  whose  love  I 
coveted. 

The  whole  dainty  fabric  of  my  life,  which  my  imagina 
tion  had  reared,  was  carried  away  as  with  the  sweep  of 
a  whirlwind,  and  the  fragments  filled  the  air  as  far  as  I 
could  see. 

When  reaction  came,  it  was  at  first  weak  and  pitiful. 
It  made  me  angry  and  petulant.  To  think  that  my  own 
father  and  my  old  teacher  should  have  been  plotting  for 
months  with  my  best  friend  to  bring  me  into  this  strait, 
iind  that  all  should  not  only  have  consented  to  this  ca- 


Arlliur  Bonnicastlc.  319 

tastrophe,  but  have  sought  it,  and  laid  their  plans  for  it, 
made  me  angry. 

"  Mr.  Bradford,"  I  said,  suddenly  and  fiercely,  rising  to 
my  feet,  "  I  have  been  abused.  You  led  me  into  a  trap, 
and  now  my  own  father  and  Mr.  Bird  join  with  you  to 
spring  it  upon  me.  You  have  wheedled  them  into  it ; 
you  have  determined  to  ruin  me,  and  all  my  hopes  and 
prospects  for  life,  because  I  do  not  choose  to  model  my 
life  on  your  stingy  little  pattern.  Who  knows  anything 
about  this  fellow  whom  you  propose  to  put  in  my  place  ? 
A  pretty  story  to  be  trumped  up  at  this  late  day,  and 
palmed  off  upon  an  old  woman  made  weak  by  remorse, 
anxious  to  right  herself  before  she  goes  to  her  grave  !  I 
will  fight  this  thing  to  the  death  for  her  and  for  myself. 
I  will  not  be  imposed  upon  ;  nor  will  I  permit  her  to  be 
imposed  upon.  Thank  you  for  nothing.  Yo.u  have  treat 
ed  me  brutally,  and  I  take  your  grand  ways  for  just  what 
they  are  worth." 

I  whirled  upon  my  feet,  and,  without  bidding  him 
good-morning,  attempted  to  leave  the  room.  His  hand 
was  on  my  shoulder  in  an  instant,  and  I  turned  upon 
him  savagely,  and  yelled  :  "  Well,  what  more  do  you 
want?  Isn't  it  enough  that  you  ruin  me?  Have  you 
any  new  torture  ?  " 

He  lifted  his  free  hand  to  my  other  shoulder,  and 
looked  me  calmly  and  with  a  sad  smile  in  the  face. 

"  I  forgive  it  all,  Arthur,"  he  said,  "  even  before  you 
repent  of  it.  The  devil  has  been  speaking  to  me,  and 
not  Arthur  Bonnicastle.  I  expected  just  this,  and  now 
that  it  is  come,  let  us  forget  it.  This  is  not  the  mood  in 
which  a  wise  man  encounters  the  world,  and  it  is  not  the 
mood  of  the  man  at  all,  but  of  a  child." 

At  this,  I  burst  into  tears,  and  he  drew  me  to  his 
breast,  where  I  wept  with  painful  convulsions.  Then  he 
led  me  back  to  my  seat. 

"  When  you  have  had  time  to  think  it  all  over,"  He 


320  ArtJiur  Bonnicastle. 

said  calmly  and  kindly,  "  you  will  find  before  you  the 
most  beautiful  opportunity  to  begin  a  true  career  that 
man  ever  had.  It  would  be  cruel  to  deprive  you  of  it. 
Your  aunt  will  never  know  of  this  heir  by  your  father's 
lips,  or  Mr.  Bird's,  or  my  own.  Neither  the  heir  nor  his 
mother  will  ever  report  themselves  to  her.  Everything 
is  to  be  done  by  you,  of  your  own  free  will.  You  have  it 
in  your  power  to  make  three  persons  superlatively  happy, 
and,  at  the  same  time,  to  make  a  man  of  yourself.  If 
you  cannot  appropriate  such  an  opportunity  as  this,  then 
your  manhood  is  more  thoroughly  debased,  or  lost,  than 
I  supposed." 

I  saw  how  kindly  and  strongly  they  had  prepared  it 
all  for  me,  and  how  all  had  been  adjusted  to  a  practical 
appeal  to  my  manhood,  to  my  sense  of  justice,  and  to 
my  gratitude. 

"  I  must  have  time,"  I  said  at  last ;  "  but  where  is 
this  man  ? " 

"  In  his  grandmother's  house,  with  a  broken  leg,  suf 
fered  in  the  service  of  his  friendship  for  you  ;  and  his 
mother  is  nursing  him  !  " 

"Grandmother's  house?  .  .  .  Henry  Hulm  ?  .  .  . 
Mrs.  Belden  ? " 

I  was  so  stunned  by  the  information  that  I  uttered  the 
words  in  gasps,  with  long  pauses  between. 

"  Yes,  the  Providence  that  has  cared  for  you  and  me 
has  brought  them  there,  and  fastened  them  in  the  home 
where  they  belong.  There  has  been  no  conspiracy,  no 
intrigue,  no  scheme.  It  has  all  been  a  happening,  but 
a, happening  after  a  plan  that  your  father  learned  long 
before  I  did  to  recognize  as  divine." 

\*  Do  they  know  where  they  are  ?  " 

I. asked  the  question  blindly,  because  it  seemed  so 
strange  that  they  should  know  anything  about  it. 

"  Certainly,"  Mr.  Bradford  said,  "  and  Henry  has  al 
ways  known  his  relations  to  Mrs.  Sanderson,  from  the 


ArtJnir  Bonnicastle.  321 

first  day  on  which  you  told  him  of  your  own.  When  you 
first  went  to  her,  I  knew  just  where  both  mother  and  son 
were,  and  was  in  communication  with  them  ;  but  I  knew 
quite  as  well  then  that  any  attempt  to  reconcile  Mrs. 
Sanderson  to  the  thought  of  adopting  them  would  have 
been  futile.  Things  have  changed  with  her  and  with 
you." 

"  Why  are  they  here  under  false  names  ?  Why  have 
they  kept  up  this  deception,  and  carried  on  this  strange 
masquerade  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  Henry  very  naturally  took  his  step-father's  name, 
because  he  was  but  a  child  at  his  mother's  second  mar 
riage  ;  and  Mrs.  Belden  Hulm  chose  to  be  known  by  a 
part  of  her  name  only,  for  the  purpose  of  hiding  her  per 
sonality  from  Mrs.  Sanderson,  whom  she  first  met  en 
tirely  by  accident." 

"  Do  they  know  that  you  have  intended  to  make  this 
disclosure  ?  "  I  inquired. 

"  No,  they  know  nothing  of  it.  It  was  once  proposed 
to  them,  but  they  declared  that  if  such  a  thing  were  done 
they  would  fly  the  city.  Under  Mr.  Bird's  and  your 
father's  advice  I  have  taken  the  matter  into  my  own 
hands,  and  now  I  leave  it  entirely  in  yours.  This  is  the 
end  of  my  responsibility,  and  here  yours  begins." 

"  Will  you  be  kind  enough  to  send  a  messenger  to 
Mrs.  Sanderson,  to  tell  her  that  I  shall  be  absent  during 
the  day  ?  "  I  said.  "  I  cannot  go  home  now." 

"Yes." 

I  shook  his  hand,  and  went  out  into  the  sunlight,  with 
a  crushed,  bruised  feeling,  as  if  I  had  passed  through  a 
great  catastrophe.  My  first  impulse  was  to  go  directly 
to  my  father,  but  the  impulse  was  hardly  born  before  I 
said  aloud,  as  if  moved  by  some  sudden  inspiration  : 
"  No;  this  thing  shall  be  settled  between  God  and  my 
self."  The  utterance  of  the  words  seemed  to  give  me 
new  strength.  I  avoided  the  street  that  led  by  my  fa' 


322  Arthur  Bonnicastlc. 

ther's  door,  and  walked  directly  through  the  town.  1 
met  sun-browned  men  at  work,  earning  their  daily 
bread.  On  every  side  I  heard  the  din  of  industry. 
There  were  shouts  and  calls,  and  snatches  of  song,  and 
rolling  of  wheels,  and  laughter  of  boys.  There  was  no 
sympathy  for  me  there,  and  no  touch  of  comfort  or  heal 
ing. 

Then  I  sought  the  solitude  of  the  woods,  and  the  si 
lence  of  nature.  Far  away  from  every  sight  and  sound 
of  man  I  sat  down,  but  even  there  went  on  the  ceaseless 
industries  of  life.  The  bees  were  plundering  the  flowers 
with  not  a  thought  of  me  or  of  play.  A  humming-bird 
probed  a  honeysuckle  at  my  side,  and  darted  away  like 
a  sunbeam.  A  foraging  squirrel  picked  up  his  dinner 
almost  at  my  feet,  and  ran.  up  a  tree,  where  he  sat  to 
eat  it  and  scold  me  for  my  idleness.  A  spring  of  water, 
twinkling  in  the  light,  gushed  from  under  a  rock,  and 
went  singing  down  the  valley  on  its  mission  of  service. 
Back  and  forth  a  robin  flew,  carrying  food  to  her  young. 
The  air  was  loaded  with  the  breath  of  flowers  and  the 
scent  of  balsams,  beauty  appealed  to  my  eyes  wherever 
I  turned  them,  and  the  summer  breezes  fanned  my  fe 
verish  cheeks.  Industry  and  ministry — these  were  the 
words  of  the  world,  and  God  had  uttered  them. 

I  looked  up  through  the  trees  into  the  deep  blue 
heaven,  and  thought  of  the  Being  of  whom  that  sky  was 
but  an  emanation,  with  its  life-giving  sun  and  its  wilder 
ness  of  unseen  stars  wheeling  in  infinite  cycles  of  silence, 
and  there  came  unbidden  to  my  lips  those  words — a 
thousand  times  divine — "  My  father  worketh  hitherto, 
and  I  work."  I  realized  that  to  live  outside  of  work  was 
to  live  outside  of  the  universal  plan,  that  there  could  be 
no  true  godliness  without  work,  and  that  manliness  was 
simply  godliness  made  human. 

I  thought  I  knew  from  the  first  what  I  should  do  in 
the  end  ;  but  I  felt  the  necessity  of  being  led  to  my  act 


Arthur  Bonnicastle.  323 

by  deliberation.  I  need  not  tell  how  many  aspirations 
went  up.  from  my  heart  that  day.  I  threw  my  soul  wide 
open  19  every  heavenly  influence,  and  returned  at  night 
strong. 

On  the  way,  I  thought  over  all  that  had  occurred  in 
my  intercourse  with  Henry,  and  wondered  why  I  had 
not  apprehended  the  facts  which  now  seemed  so  plain 
to  me.  I  thought  of  his  reticence,  his  reluctance  to 
enter  the  door  of  his  friend  and  companion,  his  likeness 
to  his  father's  portrait,  his  intimacy  with  Mrs.  Belden, 
of  a  thousand  incidents  that  pointed  to  this  one  conclu 
sion,  and  could  never  have  led  to  anything  else.  It  is 
more  than  likely  that  the  reader  of  this  history  antici 
pated  all  that  I  have  recorded,  but  to  me  it  was  a  stag 
gering  surprise  that  would  have  been  incredible,  save  for 
the  conspiring  testimony  of  every  event  and  fact  in  our 
intercourse  and  history. 

I  entered  the  house  with  a  new  glow  upon  my  face, 
and  a  new  light  in  my  eyes.  Mrs.  Sanderson  noticed 
my  altered  look,  and  said  she  was  glad  I  had  spent  the 
day  away. 

In  the  evening,  I  went  out  upon  the  broad  acres  that 
lay  nbout  me,  looked  up  at  the  grand  old  house  and  the 
splendid  elms  that  stood  around,  and  said  :  "  I  can  do 
it,  and  I  will." 

Then  I  went  to  bed,  and  with  that  sweet  and  strong 
determination  locked  in  my  breast,  I  slept,  brooded  over 
and  wrapt  around  by  a  peace  that  held  every  nerve  and 
muscle  of  my  body  and  every  faculty  of  my  soul  in 
downy  bonds  until  morning. 


ArtJiur  Bonnicastle 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

I  MEET  AN   OLD   FRIEND  WHO   BECOMES   MY   RIVAL. 

WHEN  I  woke,  on  the  following  morning,  it  was  with 
a  start  and  a  pang.  It  was  like  the  shrinking  shiver  one 
feels  in  passing  from  a  room  full  of  warmth  and  the  per 
fume  of  flowers  and  the  appliances  of  comfort  into  one 
that  is  bare  and  chill  ;  or,  it  was  like  rising  from  a  bed, 
sweet  with  invitations  to  dreams  and  languid  luxury,  to 
an  icy  bath  and  a  frosty  toilet.  The  pang,  however,  did 
not  last  long.  With  the  consciousness  that  I  was  relin 
quishing  the  hopes  and  plans  of  a  life,  there  was  min 
gled  a '  sense  of  power  over  other  lives  that  was  very 
stimulating  and  pleasant.  It  was  a  great  thing  to  be 
able  to  crown  my  benefactress  with  the  highest  earthly 
blessing  she  could  wish  for.  It  was  a  great  thing  to  be 
able  to  make  my  faithful  friend  and  fellow  rich,  and  to 
restore  to  him  his  rights.  It  was  a  great  thing  to  have 
the  power  to  solve  the  problems  of  three  lives  by  making 
them  one. 

Mr.  Bradford  and  his  advisers  were  exceedingly  wise 
in  leaving  everything  to  me,  and  placing  all  the  responsi 
bility  upon  me.  The  appeal  to  my  sense  of  justice — to 
my  manliness — was  simply  irresistible.  If  Henry  had 
been  other  than  what  he  was — j£  h£  had  been  a  young 
man  inheriting  the  nature  of  his  father — I  should  doubt 
less  have  had  difficulty  enough  with  him,  but  they  would 
have  stood  by  me.  He  would  have  made  my  place  hot 
with  hate  and  persecution,  and  they  would  have  sup 
ported  me  and  turned  against  him  ;  but  they  knew  that 
he  was  not  only  the  natural  heir  to  all  that  had  been 
promised  to  me,  but  that  he  would  use  it  all  worthily, 
i'n  carrying  out  the  purposes  of  a  manhood  worthily  won. 

It  was  strange  how  my  purposes  with  regard  to  the 


ArtJiur  Bonnicastle.  325 

inmates  of  The  Mansion  glorified  them  all  in  my  sight, 
Mrs.  Sanderson  shone  like  a  saint  in  the  breakfast-room 
that  morning.  Mrs.  Belden  was  as  fresh  and  beautiful 
as  a  maiden.  I  sat  with  Henry  for  an  hour,  and  talked, 
not  lightly,  but  cheerfully.  The  greatness  of  my  sacri 
fice,  prospective  though  it  was,  had  already  enlarged 
me,  and  I  loved  my  friend  as  I  had  never  loved  him  be 
fore.  My  heart  reached  forward  into  the  future,  and 
took  hold  of  the  new  relations  which  my  sacrifice  would 
establish  between  us  ;  and  I  drank  of  his  new  love,  even 
before  it  had  welled  from  his  heart. 

Thus  all  that  morning  I  bore  about  my  secret  ;  and,  so 
long  as  I  remained  in  the  presence  of  those  whom  I  had 
the  power  and  the  purpose  to  make  happy,  I  was  con 
tent  and  strong ;  but  when,  at  length,  I  went  out  into 
the  street,  and  met  the  courteous  bows  and  warm  greet 
ings  that  came  to  me  from  every  side  as  the  heir  of  Mrs. 
Sanderson,  and  appreciated  the  difference  between  that 
position  and  the  one  to  which  I  should  fall  as  soon  as  my 
duty  should  be  done  to  my  benefactress  and  my  friend, 
I  groaned  with  pain,  and,  lifting  my  eyes,  exclaimed : 
"  God  help  me  !  God  help  me  !  " 

Without  a  very  definite  purpose  in  my  walk,  I  bent  my 
steps  toward  my  father's  house,  and  on  my  way  was 
obliged  to  pass  the  house  of  Mr.  Bradford.  The  mo 
ment  I  came  in  sight  of  it,  I  recognized  the  figure  of 
Millie  at  work  amon»_  her  flowers  in  the  garden.  I  saw 
a  quick  motion  of  heMifad,  as  she  caught  the  sound  of 
my  steps  approaching  upon  the  opposite  side  of  the  way, 
and  then  she  rose  without  looking  at  me  and  walked  into 
the  house.  I  had  already  begun  to  cross  the  street 
toward  her  ;  but  I  returned  and  passed  the  house  with 
many  bitter  thoughts. 

It  had  come  to  this  !  As  the  heir  of  a  large  property, 
I  was  one  whose  acquaintance  was  worth  the  keeping. 
As  a  penniless  young  man,  with  his  fortune  to  make,  I 


326  Arthur  Bonnicastle. 

was  quite  another  person.  I  wondered  if  Millie  Brad 
ford,  the  young  woman,  flattered  herself  with  the  sup 
position  that  Millie  Bradford,  the  little  girl,  was  still  in 
existence ! 

The  helpless  position  in  which  I  found  myself  with  re 
lation  to  this  girl  worried  me  and  discouraged  me.  Loy 
al  to  her  father  in  every  thought  and  affection,  I  knew 
she  would  not  and  could  not  approve  my  course,  unless 
I  followed  out  his  conviction  concerning  my  duty.  Yet, 
if  I  should  do  this,  what  had  I  to  offer  her  but  poverty 
and  a  social  position  beneath  her  own  ?  I  could  never 
make  her  my  wife  without  her  father's  approval,  and 
when  I  had  secured  that,  by  the  sacrifice  of  all  my  ex 
pectations,  what  had  I  left  to  offer  but  a  partnership  in 
a  struggle  against  odds  for  the  means  and  ministries  of 
the  kind  of  life  to  which  she  had  been  bred  ?  To  sur 
render  all  that  I  had  expected  would  be  my  own,  and 
Millie  Bradford  too,  was  more  than  I  had  bargained  for, 
in  my  negotiation  with  myself. 

I  had  not  yet  learned  that  a  duty  undone  is  always  in 
the  way — that  it  stands  so  near  and  high  before  the  feet 
that  it  becomes  a  stumbling-block  over  which  thousands 
are  constantly  plunging  into  disaster.  Since  those  days, 
in  which  I  was  taking  my  first  lessons  in  life,  I  have 
learned  that  to  do  one's  next  duty  is  to  take  a  step  to 
ward  all  that  is  worth  possessing — that  it  is  the  one  step 
which  may  always  be  taken  without  regard  to  conse 
quences,  and  that  there  is  no  successful  life  which  is  not 
made  up  of  steps  thus  consecutively  taken. 

I  reached  home,  not  expecting  to  find  my  father  there, 
but  I  was  informed  by  my  mother,  with  many  sighs  and 
with  the  expression  of  many  confidential  fears,  that  he 
was  breaking  down  and  had  taken  to  his  bed.  Some 
thing,  she  said,  had  been  preying  on  his  mind  which  she 
was  unable  to  induce  him  to  reveal.  She  was  glad  I  had 
come,  and  hoped  I  would  ascertain  what  the  trouble 


Artliur  Bonnicastle.  327 

was.  She  had  been  looking  forward  to  something  of 
this  kind  for  years,  and  had  frequently  warned  my  father 
of  it.  Mr.  Bird  had  been  there,  and  had  accompanied 
my  father  to  Mr.  Bradford's,  whence  he  had  returned 
with  a  terrible  headache.  She  always  had  believed 
there  was  something  wrong  about  Mr.  Bird,  and  she  al 
ways  should  believe  thus.  As  for  Mr.  Bradford,  she  had 
nothing  to  say  about  him  ;  but  she  had  noticed  that 
men  with  strange  notions  about  religion  were  not  to  be 
trusted. 

I  listened  to  the  long  and  doleful  story,  conscious  all 
the  time  that  my  father's  illness  was  one  into  which  he 
had  been  thrown  by  his  sympathy  for  me.  He  had  been 
trying  to  do  his  duty  by  me,  and  it  had  made  him  ill. 
In  a  moment,  Millie  Bradford  went  out  of  my  mind,  and 
I  only  delayed  going  into  his  room  long  enough  to  pre 
pare  myself  to  comfort  him.  I  presume  that  he  had 
heard  my  voice,  for,  when  I  entered  the  dear  old  man's 
chamber,  his  face  was  turned  to  the  wall,  and  he  was 
feigning  unconsciousness  of  my  presence  in  the  house. 

"  Well,  father,  what's  the  matter?  "  I  said  cheerfully. 

"  Is  that  you  ?  "  he  responded  feebly,  without  turning 
his  head. 

"Yes." 

"  How  are  you  ?  " 

"  I  was  never  better  in  my  life,"  I  responded. 

"  Have  you  seen  Mr.  Bradford  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  And  had  a  talk  with  him  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"Has he  told  you?" 

"Yes." 

"  Are  you  going  to  do  it  ?  " 

"Yes." 

I  was  laughing — I  could  not  help  it — when  I  was  so 
bered  at  once  by  seeing  that  he  was  convulsed  with  emo- 


328  Arthur  Bonnicastle. 

tion.  The  bed  shook  with  his  passion,  and  he  could  not 
say  a  word,  but  lay  with  his  face  covered  by  his  hands. 
I  did  not  know  what  to  say,  and  concluded  to  say  noth 
ing,  and  to  let  his  feeling  take  its  natural  course.  For 
many  long  minutes  he  lay  silently  trying  to  recover  the 
mastery  of  himself.  At  last  he  seized  the  wet  handker 
chief  with  which  he  had  been  trying  to  assuage  the  pain 
and  fever  of  his  head,  and  threw  it  into  a  corner  of  the 
room,  and  then  turned  toward  me,  laughing  and  crying 
together,  and  stretched  his  arms  toward  me.  I  bowed 
to  his  embrace,  and  so  the  long  years  of  the  past  were 
blotted  out  in  our  mutual  tears,  and  we  were  boys  once 
more. 

I  brought  him  his  clothes,  and  he  put  them  on.  Then 
I  turned  the  key  in  the  door,  and,  sitting  down  side  by 
side  upon  the  bed,  we  talked  the  matter  all  over.  I  con 
fessed  to  him  my  idleness,  my  meanness,  my  shame 
less  sacrifice  of  golden  opportunities,  my  weakness  and 
my  hesitations,  and  promised  that  when  the  right  time 
should  come  I  would  do  what  I  could  to  give  Henry  and 
his  mother  the  home  that  belonged  to  them,  and  to  be 
stow  upon  my  benefactress  the  boon  which  she  would 
prize  a  thousand  times  more  than  all  the  money  she  had 
ever  expended  upon  me. 

"And  you  are  not  going  to  be  unhappy  and  blame 
me  ?  "  he  said. 

"  Never." 

"  And  are  you  coming  home  ?  " 

"  Yes,  to  look  after  and  serve  you  all,  so  long  as  you 
may  live." 

We  looked  in  one  another's  faces,  and  the  same  thought 
thrilled  us.  We  knelt  at  the  bed,  and  my  father  poured 
out  his  gratitude  for  the  answer  that  had  come  with  such 
sweet  and  beautiful  fulfilment  to  his  prayers.  There 
was  but  little  of  petition  in  his  utterances,  for  his  heart 
was  too  full  of  thankfulness  to  give  a  place  to  his  own 


Arthur  Bonnicastlc.  329 

wants  or  to  mine.  When  he  rose,  there  was  the  peace 
of  heaven  on  his  features,  and  the  light  of  a  new  life  in 
his  faded  blue  eyes. 

"  Does  my  mother  know  of  this  ?  "  I  inquired. 

"  No,"  he  replied  ;  "  and  this  is  the  one  great  trouble 
that  lies  before  me  now." 

"  Let  me  break  it  to  her,  then,  while  you  go  out  of  the 
house,"  I  said. 

In  the  state  of  mind  in  which  my  father  found  himself 
at  the  close  of  our  interview,  it  would  have  been  cruel  to 
subject  him  to  the  questions  and  cavils  and  forebodings 
of  my  mother.  So,  taking  his  way  out  of  the  house  by 
a  side  door,  he  left  me  at  liberty  to  seek  her,  and  to 
reconcile  her  to  the  new  determinations  of  my  life. 

I  do  not  suppose  it  would  be  interesting  to  recount  the 
long  and  painful  conversation  I  had  with  her.  She  had 
foreseen  that  something  of  this  kind  would  occur.  She 
had  never  believed  that  that  great  fortune  would  come 
to  me,  but  she  had  never  dreamed  that  I  should  be  the 
one  to  give  it  up.  She  was  disappointed  in  Henry,  and, 
as  for  Mrs.  Belden,  she  had  always  regarded  her  as  a 
schemer.  She  presumed,  too,  that  as  soon  as  Henry 
found  himself  the  possessor  of  a  fortune  he  would  forsake 
Claire — a  step  which  she  was  sure  would  kill  her.  It  all 
came  of  mingling  with  people  who  have  money.  Mr. 
Bradford  was  very  officious,  and  she  was  glad  that  I  had 
found  out  Mr.  Bird  at  last.  Her  life  had  been  a  life  of 
trial,  and  she  had  not  been  deceived  into  supposing  that 
it  would  be  anything  else. 

During  all  the  time  I  had  been  in  the  house,  Claire 
and  the  boys  had  been  out.  My  task  with  my  mother 
was  interrupted  at  last  by  the  sound  of  Claire's  voice  at 
the  door.  She  was  trolling  in  her  own  happy  way  the 
refrain  of  a  familiar  song.  I  had  only  time  to  impress 
upon  my  mother  the  necessity  of  keeping  all  knowledge 
of  the  new  phase  of  my  affairs  from  her  and  the  rest  of 


33°  Arthur  Bonnicastle. 

the  family,  and  to  secure  her  promise  in  accordance  with 
it,  before  Claire  entered  the  room.  I  knew  it  would  be 
best  that  my  sister  should  learn  everything  from  the 
lips  of  Henry.  She  would  have  been  distressed  beyond 
measure  at  the  change  in  my  prospects  as  well  as  the 
change  in  her  own.  I  knew  she  had  learned  to  look  for 
ward  upon  life  as  a  struggle  with  poverty,  by  the  side  of 
a  brave  man,  equipped  for  victory.  She  had  dreamed 
of  helping  him,  solacing  him,  blessing  him  with  faith  and 
love,  and  rising  with  him  to  the  eminence  which  she  felt 
sure  he  had  the  power  to  achieve.  No  wildest  dream  of 
her  young  imagination  had  ever  enthroned  her  in  The 
Mansion,  or  made  her  more  than  a  welcome  visitor  there 
after  its  present  mistress  should  have  passed  away. 

I  exchanged  a  few  pleasant  words  with  her,  assuring 
her  that  I  had  cured  my  father  by  a  few  talismanic 
touches,  and  sent  him  out  to  get  some  fresh  air,  and  was 
trying  my  cure  upon  my  mother  when  she  interrupted  me. 
Then  we  talked  about  Henry,  and  his  rapid  progress  to 
ward  recovery.  I  knew  that  she  did  not  expect  or  wish 
to  see  him,  because  the  visit  that  such  a  step  would  ren 
der  necessary  would  be  regarded  as  the  advertisement 
of  an  engagement  which  had  not  yet  been  openly  con 
fessed.  But  she  was  glad  to  hear  all  about  him,  and  I 
gratified  her  by  the  rehearsal  of  all  the  details  that.  I 
could  remember.  I  could  not  help  thinking,  as  I  talked 
with  her,  that  I  had  in  hand  still  another  destiny.  It  was 
astonishing  how  fruitful  a  good  determination  was,  when 
it  took  the  path  of  Providence  and  of  natural  law.  I  had 
already  four  for  one,  and  felt  that  I  could  not  foresee 
how  many  more  would  be  added  to  the  gain  already 
made. 

When,  at  last,  I  bade  my  mother  and  Claire  a  "  good 
morning,"  the  only  question  left  upon  my  mind  con 
cerned  the  time  and  manner  of  the  announcement  to 
Mrs.  Sanderson  of  the  relations  of  Mrs.  Belden  and 


Arthur  Bonnicastle.  331 

Henry  to  her.  Henry,  I  knew,  was  still  too  weak  to  be 
subjected  to  strong  excitement  without  danger,  and  this 
fact  made  it  absolutely  necessary  to  defer  the  proposed 
revelation  and  the  changes  that  were  sure  to  follow. 

I  went  out  upon  the  street  with  a  buoyant  feeling,  and 
with  that  sense  of  strength  that  one  always  feels  when 
his  will  is  consciously  in  harmony  with  the  Supreme 
will,  and  his  determinations  proceed  from  his  better 
nature.  But  my  trials  had  not  all  been  seen  and  sur 
mounted. 

Making  a  detour  among  the  busier  streets,  that  my 
passage  to  The  Mansion  might  be  longer  and  more  va 
ried,  I  saw,  walking  before  me,  an  elegant  young  man, 
in  the  jauntiest  of  morning  costumes.  I  could  not  see 
his  face,  but  I  knew  at  once  that  he  was  a  stranger  in 
the  city,  and  was  impressed  with  the  conviction  that  I 
was  familiar  with  his  gait  and  figure.  If  I  had  seen  him 
where  I  had  previously  known  him,  his  identity  would 
have  been  detected  at  once  ;  but  he  was  the  young  man 
furthest  from  my  thoughts,  and  the  one  old  companion 
whom  I  had  learned  to  count  out  of  my  life.  I  quick 
ened  my  steps,  and,  as  I  approached  him,  some  sudden 
and  characteristic  movement  of  his  head  revealed  my 
old  college  friend  Livingston. 

"Well,  well,  well!  Man  in  the  Moon!  When  did 
you  drop,  and  where  did  you  strike  ? "  I  shouted,  run 
ning  up  behind  him. 

He  wheeled  and  grasped  both  my  hands  in  his  cordial 
way,  pouring  out  his  greetings  and  compliments  so  freely 
•that  passengers  involuntarily  stopped  upon  the  walk  to 
witness  the  meeting. 

"  1  was  wondering  where  you  were,  and  was  about  to 
inquire,"  he  said. 

"  Were  you  ?     How  long  have  you  been  in  town  ?  " 

"  Two  or  three  days,"  he  replied. 

"  You  must  have   been  very  desirous  to  find  me,"  I 


332  Arthur  Bonnicastle, 

responded.  "  I  have  a  good  mind  to  leave  you,  and 
send  you  my  address.  Permit  me  to  bid  you  good- 
morning.  This  meeting  in  the  street  is  very  irregular." 

"  None  of  your  nonsense,  my  boy,"  said  he.  "  I 
came  here  on  business,  and  pleasure  comes  after  that, 
you  know." 

"  Oho  !  Business  !  We  are  becoming  useful  are  we  ? 
Can  I  assist  you  ?  I  assure  you  I  have  nothing  else  to 
do." 

"  Bonnicastle,"  said  he,  "  you  are  hungry.  You  evi 
dently  want  something  to  stop  your  mouth.  Let's  go 
into  the  hotel  and  get  a  lunch." 

Saying  this,  he  grasped  my  arm,  and  we  walked  to 
gether  back  to  his  hotel,  and  were  soon  seated  at  a  ta 
ble  in  his  parlor,  doing  the  duty  of  two  hearty  young 
men  to  a  chop  and  a  salad. 

We  talked  of  old  times,  then  of  his  employments  since 
he  left  me  at  college  two  years  before,  and  then  I  told 
him  of  myself,  of  the  encounter  at  The  Mansion  which 
had  resulted  in  Henry's  confinement  there  with  a  broken 
limb,  and  of  the  way  in  which  I  had  been  passing  my 
time. 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do  next  ?  "  he  inquired. 

"  That's  a  secret,"  I  said,  with  a  blush,  all  the  frolic 
going  out  of  me  in  a  moment. 

"  I  know  what  you  are  going  to  do." 

"  What?" 

"  You  are  going  to  Europe  and  the  East  with  me. 
We  are  to  be  gone  two  years,  and  to  see  everything. 
We'll  sing  Yankee  Doodle  on  the  Pyramids,  have  a  fish-, 
fry  on  the  shores  of  Galilee,  light  our  cigars  at  Vesu 
vius,  call  on  the  Pope,  see  all  the  pictures,  and  dance 
with  all  the  pretty  girls  from  Vienna  and  Paris  to  St. 
Petersburg,  and  call  it  study.  On  very  rainy  days,  we'll 
write  dutiful  letters  to  our  friends,  conveying  assurances 
of  our  high  consideration,  and  asking  for  remittances." 


Arthur  Bonnicastlc.  333 

Little  did  the  merry  fellow  imagine,  as  he  rattled  off 
his  programme,  what  a  temptation  he  was  placing  before 
me.  It  presented  the  most  agreeable  path  out  of  my 
difficulty.  I  believed  Mrs.  Sanderson  would  deny  me 
nothing,  even  should  I  renounce  all  my  expectations, 
and  surrender  my  home  to  him  to  whom  it  naturally  be 
longed.  The  act  of  surrender  would  place  her  under 
such  obligations  to  me  that  any  request  that  might  come 
with  it  would,  I  supposed,  be  sure  to  be  granted.  Then 
it  would  let  me  down  easily,  and  save  me  the  necessity 
of  facing  my  townsmen  under  my  new  circumstances. 
It  would  furnish  me  with  a  knowledge  of  the  world  which 
would  be  useful  to  me  in  the  future  task  of  providing  for 
myself.  It  would  complete  my  education,  and  give  me 
the  finest  possible  start  in  life.  Livingston's  connections 
would  carry  me  into  the  best  society,  and  bring  me  ad 
vantages  such  as  I  could  not  secure  by  means  within  my 
own  command. 

"Are  you  in  earnest  ?  "   I  inquired,  hesitatingly. 

"  I  never  was  more  so  in  my  life." 

"  You  tempt  me." 

"  Well,  you  know  just  how  much  my  rattle  means," 
said  he,  sobered  by  the  tone  of  my  inquiry.  "  You  know 
I  take  care  of  myself,  and  others  too — when  they  let  me. 
We  can  have  a  good  time  and  one  that  will  do  us  good." 

While  I  felt  pretty  sure  that  I  should  not  go  with  him, 
unless  Mrs.  Sanderson  should  voluntarily  offer  me  the 
means  for  the  journey,  and  my  friends  should  urge  me 
to  accept  them,  I  told  him  I  would  think  of  it. 

"  That's  right,"  he  said,  "  and  you'll  conclude  to  go." 

"  When  ?  " 

"  Next  month." 

Was  this  Providence  too  ?  Was  my  road  out  of  my  dif 
ficulty  to  be  strewn  with  flowers  ?  How  could  I  tell  ?  Un 
expectedly,  at  the  exact  moment  when  it  would  meet 
with  a  greedy  welcome,  came  this  proposition  To  ac- 


334  Arthur  Bonnicastle. 

cept  it  would  be  to  take  me  away  from  every  unpleasant 
association,  and  all  the  apprehended  trials  attending  the 
execution  of  my  great  purpose,  and  give  me  pleasure 
that  I  coveted  and  culture  that  I  needed.  To  reject  it 
was  to  adopt  a  career  of  hardship  at  once,  to  take  up 
my  life  beneath  my  father's  humble  roof,  to  expose  my 
self  to  the  triumphant  sneers  of  the  coarse  men  who  had 
envied  me,  and  to  forsake  forever  those  associations 
which  had  become  so  precious  to  me.  I  could  do  jus 
tice  to  Henry  and  my  benefactress,  and  secure  this  great 
pleasure  to  myself  also.  Had  Providence  directed  all 
this  ? 

Many  things  have  been  accepted  first  and  last,  among 
men,  as  providential,  under  the  mistaken  supposition 
that  the  devil  does  not  understand  the  value  of  times  and 
opportunities.  Evil  has  its  providences  as  well  as  Good  ; 
and  a  tempted  man  is  often  too  much  befogged  to  dis 
tinguish  the  one  from  the  other.  Interpreting  provi 
dences  by  wishes  is  the  favorite  trick  of  fools. 

After  a  long  and  discursive  talk  on  the  subject  of  for 
eign  travel  generally,  and  of  the  project  before  us  par 
ticularly,  I  was  bold  enough  to  ask  Livingston  what 
business  it  could  be  that  had  brought  him  to  Bradford. 
He  fought  shy  of  the  question  and  seemed  to  be  embar 
rassed  by  it.  Licensed  by  the  familiarly  friendly  terms 
of  our  previous  intercourse,  I  good-naturedly  pressed 
my  question.  He  gave  all  kinds  of  evasive  and  unsat 
isfactory  replies  ;  and  then  I  pushed  the  matter  further 
by  asking  him  what  friends  he  had  in  the  place,  and 
endeavoring  to  ascertain  what  new  acquaintances  he 
had  made.  I  could  not  learn  that  he  knew  anybody  in 
Bradford  but  Henry  and  myself,  and  I  became  satisfied 
at  last  that  he  had  not  been  frank  with  me.  It  is  true 
that  he  was  not  accountable  to  me,  and  that  I  had  no 
right  to  pry  into  his  affairs  ;  but  he  had  volunteered  to 
say  that  his  errand  was  a  business  errand  ;  and  I  felt 


Arthur  Bonnicastle.  335 

that  in  a  place  where  I  was  at  home,  and  he  was  not,  I 
could  serve  him  if  he  would  permit  me  to  do  so. 

As  soon  as  he  could  divert  me  from  my  purpose,  he 
put  me  the  question  whether  I  had  remained  heart  and 
fancy  free  ;  "for  you  know,"  he  said,  "  that  it  will  never 
do  for  rovers  to  leave  pining  maidens  behind  them." 

I  assured  him  (with  those  mental  reservations  with 
which  uncommitted  lovers  so  ingeniously  sophisticate 
the  truth)  that  there  was  not  a  woman  in  the  world,  with 
the  exception  of  certain  female  relatives,  who  had  any 
claim  upon  my  affection. 

"By  the  way,"  said  Livingston  with  sudden  interest, 
as  if  the  thought  had  struck  him  for  the  first  time, 
"what  has  become  of  that  little  Bradford  girl,  whom  we 
met  on  that  memorable  New  Year's  at  the  Spencers' ; 
you  remember  that  old  house  in  the  suburbs?  or  were 
you  too  foggy  for  that  ?  " 

If  Livingston  had  realized  how  painful  such  an  allu 
sion  would  be  to  me,  he  would  not  have  made  it ;  but 
his  standard  of  morality,  so  far  as  it  related  to  excesses 
in  drink,  was  so  different  from  mine,  that  it  was  impos 
sible  for  him  to  appreciate  the  shame  which  my  fall  had 
caused  me,  and  the  shrinking  sorrow  with  which  I  still 
looked  back  upon  it. 

I  told  him  frankly  that  I  remembered  the  meeting  im 
perfectly,  and  that  I  heartily  wished  I  had  no  memory 
of  it  whatever.  "  I  made  an  ass  of  myself,"  I  said, 
"  and  worse  ;  and  I  doubt  whether  it  has  ever  been  for 
gotten,  or  ever  will  be." 

There  was  a  quiet  lighting  of  his  eye  as  he  heard  this  ; 
and  then  he  went  on  to  say  that  her  New  York  friends 
told  very  extravagant  stories  about  her  beauty  and  at 
tractiveness,  and  that  he  should  really  like  to  fall  in 
with  her  again.  Then  he  went  on  to  moralize,  after  the 
wise  manner  of  young  men,  on  the  heartlessness  of  city 
life,  and  particularly  of  city  girls,  and  said  that  he  had 


336  Arthur  Bonnicastle. 

often  told  his  mother  that  no  hot-house  rose  should  evei 
adorn  his  button-hole,  provided  he  could  pluck  a  satis 
factory  wayside  daisy. 

A  jealous  lover  has  no  rival  in  the  instantaneous  con 
struction  of  a  hypothesis.  I  saw  at  once  the  whole  trick. 
Tiring  of  his  New  York  life,  having  nothing  whatever  to 
do,  remembering  the. beautiful  face  and  hearty  manner 
of  Millie  Bradford,  and  moved  by  some  recent  conversa 
tions  about  her  with  her  friends,  he  had  started  off  from 
home  with  the  determination  to  meet  her  in  some  way. 
Endeavoring  first  to  assure  himself  that  I  had  no  claim 
upon  her,  he  undoubtedly  intended  to  engage  my  ser 
vices  to  bring  about  a  renewal  of  his  acquaintance  with 
her. 

I  had  met  my  rival  ;  for  I  could  not  but  feel  that  if 
he  had  been  impressed  by  her  when  she  was  little  more 
than  a  child,  her  charms  of  womanhood  — her  beautiful 
person,  and  her  bright,  pure  nature — would  impress  him 
still  more.  It  was  a  bitter  draught  for  me  to  drink,  with 
out  the  privilege  of  making  a  wry  face  or  uttering  a  pro 
test.  He  was  maturer  than  I,  and  possessed  of  every 
personal  attraction.  He  carried  with  him,  and  had  be 
hind  him,  the  highest  social  consideration  and  influence. 
He  was  rich,  he  was  not  base,  he  was  the  best  of  his  set, 
he  was  the  master  of  himself  and  of  all  the  arts  of  soci 
ety  ;  he  was  one  of  those  young  men  whose  way  with 
women  is  easy.  What  was  I  by  the  side  of  a  man  like 
him?  The  only  occasion  on  which  Millie  Bradford  hnd 
ever  seen  him  was  one  associated  with  my  disgrace. 
She  could  never  meet  him  again  without  recalling  my 
fall,  and  his  own  honorable  freedom  from  all  responsi 
bility  for  it.  The  necessity  of  getting  him  out  of  the 
country  by  a  period  of  foreign  travel  seemed  laid  upon 
me.  To  have  him  within  an  easy  distance,  after  I  had 
voluntarily  forsaken  my  fortune,  and  before  I  had  had 
an  opportunity  to  prove  my  power  to  achieve  a  fortune 


Arthur  Bonnicastle.  337 

for  myself,  was  to  live  a  life  of  constant  misery,  with  the 
chances  of  having  the  one  grand  prize  of  existence  torn 
from  my  hands  and  borne  hopelessly  beyond  my  reach. 

"  Oh,  it's  a  daisy  business,  is  it?  "  I  said,  with  a  pale 
face  and  such  carelessness  of  tone  as  I  could  assume. 
"  There  are  lots  of  them  round  here.  They're  a  bit 
dusty,  perhaps,  in  dry  weather,  but  are  fresh  after  a 
shower.  You  svould  never  be  contented  with  one  :  what 
do  you  say  to  a  dozen  ?  " 

Livingston  laughed,  and  laughed  in  such  a  way  that  I 
knew  he  had  no  business  in  Bradford.  But  why  had  he 
kept  away  from  me  ?  Why  had  he  been  three  days  in 
the  town  without  apprising  me  of  his  presence  ? 

He  held  up  his  hand  and  looked  at  it  with  a  curious 
smile.  "Bonnicastle,"  said  he,  "do  you  see  anything 
peculiar  on  the  back  of  that  hand  ?  " 

"  Nothing,"  I  replied,  "  except  that  it  seems  to  be 
clean." 

"  Does  it  seem  to  you  that  there  is  one  spot  on  it  that 
is  cleaner  than  all  the  rest  ?  "  he  inquired. 

I  confessed  that  I  was  unable  to  detect  any  such  lo 
cality. 

"  Well,  my  boy,  there  is  a  spot  there  which  I  could 
define  to  you,  if  I  should  try,  that  I  have  kept  clean  for 
two  years,  and  which  has  a  life  and  sacredness  of  its 
own.  It  once  had  a  sensation — the  sweetest  and  most 
thrilling  that  you  can  imagine.  It  was  pressed  by  a  pair 
of  innocent  lips,  and  wet  by  as  sweet  a  dew-drop  as  ever 
nestled  in  the  heart  of  a  rose.  You  never  thought  me 
romantic,  but  that  little  touch  and  baptism  have  set  that 
hand  apart—for  the  present,  anyway." 

"  If  you  wish  to  give  me  to  understand  that  Millie 
Bradford  ever  kissed  your  hand  and  dropped  a  tear  upon 
it,  you  have  brought  your  chaff  to  the  wrong  market,"  I 
said,  the  anger  rising  in  my  heart  and  the  color  mount 
ing  to  oy  face. 


338  Arthur  Bonnicastle. 

"  Don'i  be  hasty,  old  fellow,"  said  he,  reaching  ovei 
and  patting  me  on  my  shoulder.  "I've  said  nothing 
about  Millie  Bradford.  I've  lived  among  roses  and 
daisies  all  my  life." 

Whether  Livingston  saw  that  I  had  a  little  personal 
feeling  about  the  matter,  or  felt  that  he  had  been  fool 
ishly  confidential,  or  were  afraid  that  I  should  push  him 
to  an  explanation,  which  would  compel  him  to  reveal  the 
circumstances  under  which  Millie  had  begged  his  vbr- 
giveness  with  a  kiss,  for  charging  him  with  my  intoxica 
tion — a  fact  of  which  I  was  too  stupid  at  the  time  to  lie 
conscious — I  do  not  know ;  but  he  assured  me  that  he 
had  been  talking  nonsense,  and  that  I  was  to  lay  up  and 
remember  nothing  that  he  had  said. 

We  had  already  pushed  back  from  the  table,  and  he 
had  rung  for  a  waiter  to  have  it  cleared.  In  response 
to  the  bell,  a  man  came  with  his  tray  in  one  hand  and  a 
card  in  the  other.  Handing  the  latter  to  Livingston, 
the  young  man  took  it  with  a  strange,  embarrassed  flush 
on  his  face.  Turning  it  over,  and  looking  at  it  the 
second  time,  he  exclaimed  :  "  I  wonder  how  he  knew  me 
to  be  here.  It's  your  friend  Mr.  Bradford."  Then  turn 
ing  to  the  waiter,  he  added  :  "  Take  these  dishes  away 
and  ask  him  up." 

I  rose  at  once  to  go  ;  and  he  did  not  detain  me,  or 
suggest  a  future  meeting.  I  shook  his  hand  and  bade  him 
"  good-morning,"  but  was  arrested  at  the  door  by  finding 
Mr.  Bradford  waiting  outside.  Seeing  Livingston  within, 
he  came  forward,  and,  while  he  took  my  arm  and  led  me 
back,  said  :  "  I  am  somewhat  in  haste  this  morning,  and 
so  have  followed  my  card  at  once.  I  am  not  going  to 
separate  two  fellows  like  you  ;  so,  Arthur,  sit  down." 

I  did  not  believe  my  presence  welcome  to  Livingston 
during  this  interview  ;  but  as  I  was  curious  to  witness  it, 
and  had  a  sufficient  apology  for  doing  so,  I  sat  down,  and 
remained. 


Arthur  Bonnicastle.  339 

"I  have  just  taken  from  the  office,"  Mr.  Bradford 
went  on,  "a  letter  from  my  friends  the  Spencers,  who 
tell  me  that  you  are  to  be  here  for  a  few  days  ;  and  as 
the  letter  has  evidently  been  detained  on  the  way,  I  have 
called  at  once  to  apologize  for  not  having  called  before." 

Livingston  was  profuse  in  his  protestations  that  it  was 
not  of  the  slightest  consequence,  and  that  while  he  should 
have  been  glad  to  meet  Mr.  Bradford,  he  had  passed  his 
time  quite  pleasantly.  I  saw  at  once  what  had  occupied 
him  during  those  three  days,  in  which  he  had  not  an 
nounced  his  presence  to  me.  He  had  been  awaiting  the 
arrival  of  this  letter.  He  had  chosen  to  be  introduced  in 
this  way,  rather  than  bear  the  letter  himself.  It  was  a 
cunningly-contrived,  but  a  very  transparent,  proceeding. 

Livingston  was  invited  to  the  Bradfords'  to  dine  the 
next  day,  of  course,  and  quite  of  course,  as  I  was  present 
when  the  invitation  was  given,  I  was  invited  to  meet  him. 
This  was  satisfactory  to  me,  though  I  doubt  whether 
Livingston  was  pleased  with  the  arrangement,  for  he  had 
evidently  intended  to  see  Millie  Bradford  before  he  an 
nounced  himself  to  me. 

Inviting  my  friend  to  call  at  The  Mansion  during  the 
afternoon  and  make  my  aunt's  acquaintance,  and  renew 
his  acquaintance  with  Henry,  I  took  my  leave  of  him 
and  passed  out  with  Mr.  Bradford.  I  was  not  a  little 
surprised  to  learn  how  pleasantly  the  latter  remembered 
my  college  acquaintance,  and  how  high  an  estimate  he 
placed  upon  him.  If  Livingston  could  have  heard  his 
hearty  words  of  praise,  he  would  have  learned  how 
smoothly  the  way  was  paved  to  the  accomplishment  of 
his  hopes  and  his  possible  purposes.  In  my  jealousy, 
every  word  he  uttered  was  full  of  discouragement,  for  I 
was  sure  that  I  knew  the  motive  which  had  drawn  Liv 
ingston  to  the  town,  while  Mr.  Bradford  was  as  innocent 
as  a  child  of  any  suspicions  of  such  a  motive. 

As  we  came  near  his  house,  I  said  ;  "  You  are  in  hast* 


340    *  Arthur  Bonnicastle. 

this  morning,  but  I  wish  to  see  you  soon — before  to« 
morrow,  if  you  can  spare  me  the  time." 

"  Come  in  to-night,  then,"  he  responded. 

At  night,  accordingly,  I  went,  and  he  received  me 
alone,  as  he  did  on  the  previous  day.  I  told  him  of  my 
interview  with  my  father  and  mother,  and  of  the  deter 
mination  at  which  I  had  arrived  with  relation  to  Mrs. 
Sanderson  and  Henry.  He  listened  to  me  with  warm 
approval,  which  was  evident,  though  he  said  but  little  ; 
but  when  I  told  him  of  Livingston's  proposition  to  travel, 
and  my  wishes  in  regard  to  it,  he  dropped  his  head  as  if 
he  were  disappointed.  I  urged  the  matter,  and  frankly 
gave  him  the  reasons  for  my  desire  to  absent  myself  for 
a  while  after  the  change  in  my  circumstances. 

He  made  me  no  immediate  reply,  but  rose  and  walked 
the  room,  as  if  perplexed  and  uncertain  concerning  the 
response  which  he  ought  to  make  to  the  project.  At 
length  he  paused  before  me,  and  said  :  "  Arthur,  you 
are  young,  and  I  am  afraid  that  I  expect  too  much  of 
you.  I  see  very  plainly,  however,  that  if  you  go  away 
for  a  protracted  absence,  to  live  still  longer  on  Mrs. 
Sanderson's  benefactions,  you  will  return  more  disquali 
fied  than  you  are  at  this  moment  to  take  up  an  inde 
pendent  life.  I  do  not  approve  of  your  plan,  but  I  will 
not  lift  a  finger  to  thwart  it.  After  you  have  surren 
dered  your  place  in  Mrs.  Sanderson's  family,  you  will 
be  in  a  better  position  to  judge  whether  your  plan  be 
either  desirable  or  practicable." 

Then  he  laid  his  hand  upon  my  shoulder,  in  an  affec 
tionate  way,  and  added  :  "I  confess  I  should  be  sorry 
to  lose  sight  of  you  for  the  next  two  years.  Your  father 
needs  you,  and  will  need  you  more  and  more.  Besides, 
the  next  two  years  are  to  confirm  you  more  than  you 
can  see  in  the  style  of  character  and  manhood  which 
you  are  to  carry  through  life.  I  am  very  anxious  thaf 
these  two  years  should  be  made  the  most  of." 


Arthur  Bonnicastle.  341 

The  interview  was  a  brief  one,  and  I  left  the  presence 
and  house  of  my  friend  under  the  impression  that  he  not 
only  did  not  approve  my  plan,  but  that  he  thought  it 
very  doubtful  whether  I  should  have  the  opportunity  to 
realize  it.  He  said  but  little,  yet  I  saw  that  his  faith  in 
Mrs.  Sanderson's  generosity,  where  her  own  selfish  ends 
were  not  involved,  was  not  very  hearty. 

On  the  following  day  I  met  Livingston  at  Mr.  Brad 
ford's  table.  The  family  were  all  at  home,  and  Millie, 
most  becomingly  dressed,  never  had  seemed  so  beauti 
ful  to  me.  Livingston  was  evidently  very  much  im 
pressed  by  her  charms,  and  showed  by  the  attention  he 
bestowed  upon  her  his  desire  to  appear  at  his  best  in 
her  presence.  I  was  distressed  by  my  own  youth,  and 
the  easy  superiority  which  he  manifested  in  all  his  man 
ners  and  conversation. 

It  was  strange,  too,  to  see  how  the  girl's  quick  nature 
had  shot  beyond  mine  into  maturity,  and  how,  in  her 
womanliness,  she  matched  my  friend  better  than  myself. 
I  was  full  of  embarrassment  and  jealousy.  The  words 
that  were  addressed  to  me  by  the  other  members  of  the 
family  were  half  unheard  and  but  clumsily  replied  to, 
absorbed  as  I  was  in  watching  Livingston  and  Millie, 
and  seeing  how  happily  they  carried  on  their  conversa 
tion.  I  was  enraged  with  myself — I  who  had  always 
been  quick  and  careless — for  I  knew  that  I  did  not  ap 
pear  well,  and  felt  that  the  girl,  whose  senior  I  was  by 
several  years,  regarded  me  as  a  youth  in  whom  the  fla 
vor  and  power  of  maturity  were  lacking.  Livingston 
was  a  man,  she  was  a  woman,  and  I  was  a  boy.  I  saw 
it  all  and  felt  it  all,  with  pangs  that  none  may  know  save 
those  who  have  experienced  them. 

The  evening  did  not  pass  away,  however,  without  giv 
ing  me  an  opportunity  for  a  quiet  talk  with  Millie. 
There  was  one  woman  whose  sharp  vision  did  not  fail  to 
detect  the  real  state  of  affairs.  Aunt  Flick  was  on  the 


342  Arthur  Bonnicastle. 

alert.  She  had  watched  the  play  from  the  first,  with 
eyes  that  comprehended  the  situation,  and  in  her  own 
perverse  way  she  was  my  friend.  She  managed  to  call 
Livingston  away  from  Millie,  and  then  I  took  a  seat  at 
her  side.  I  tried  to  lead  her  into  conversation  on  the 
subject  most  interesting  to  me,  but  she  declined  to  say  a 
word,  though  I  knew  that  she  was  aware  of  all  that  was 
occurring  in  relation  to  my  life. 

The  moments  were  precious,  and  I  said  impulsively 
out  of  the  burden  of  my  heart:  "  Miss  Bradford,  I  an^ 
passing  through  a  great  trial." 

"  I  know  it,"  she  replied,  looking  away  from  me. 

"Are  you  sorry  ?  " 

"  No,"  still  looking  away. 

"  Are  you  my  friend  ?  " 

"  That  depends." 

"  I  get  very  little  sympathy,"  I  responded  bitterly. 
"  No  one  but  my  dear  old  father  seems  to  understand 
how  hard  this  is,  and  how  hard  all  have  helped  to  make 
it  for  me.  The  revolution  of  one's  life  is  not  a  pleasant 
process.  A  dozen  words,  spoken  to  me  by  the  right  lips, 
would  make  many  things  easy  and  anything  possible." 

She  turned  to  me  in  a  startled  way,  as  if  I  had  given 
her  sudden  pain,  and  she  had  been  moved  to  ask  me 
why  I  had  done  it.  I  was  thrilled  by  the  look,  and  thor 
oughly  ashamed  of  the  words  that  had  inspired  it.  What 
right  had  I  to  come  to  her  with  my  troubles  ?  What 
right  had  I  to  seek  for  her  sympathy  ?  Was  it  manly 
for  me  to  seek  help  from  her  to  be  a  man  ?  If  she  had 
not  pitied  me  and  seen  further  than  I  did,  she  would 
have  spurned  me. 

This  conversation  was  nothjng  but  a  brief  episode  in 
the  evening's  experiences,  but  it  made  a  healthy  im 
pression  upon  me. 

Livingston  and  I  left  the  Bradfords'  together,  and,  as 
we  were  to  take  opposite  directions  to  our  lodgings,  we 


Arthur  Bonnicastle.  343 

parted  at  the  door.  Not  a  word  was  said  about  Millie; 
and  all  that  he  said  about  the  Bradfords  was  in  the 
guarded  words  :  "  These  friends  of  yours  seem  to  be 
very  nice  people."  I  knew  that  he  would  be  there  again 
as  soon  as  it  would  be  practicable,  and  that  he  would  be 
there  without  me.  I  was  quite  reconciled  to  this,  for  I 
saw  that  he  monopolized  attention,  and  that  Tcould  be 
nothing  but  a  boy  by  his  side,  when  he  chose  that  I 
should  be. 

He  remained  in  the  town  for  a  week,  calling  upon  the 
Bradford  family  nearly  every  day,  and  on  one  occasion 
taking  a  drive  with  them  in  the  family  carriage.  In  the 
meantime  Henry  made  rapid  strides  toward  recovery, 
and  the  dreaded  hour  approached  when  it  would  be  ne 
cessary  for  me  to  take  the  step  which  would  abruptly 
change  the  current  of  my  life. 

When  I  parted  with  Livingston,  he  still  entertained 
the  project  of  travel,  and  said  that  he  should  return  in  a 
fortnight  to  ascertain  my  conclusions. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

MRS.    SANDERSON    MEETS   HER   GRANDSON  AND    I    RE 
TURN  TO  MY  FATHER'S  HOME. 

LIVINGSTON  had  been  gone  three  or  four  days  when, 
one  morning,  Henry's  surgical  attendant  came  down 
stairs  from  his  regular  visit  to  the  young  man,  and  an 
nounced  that  his  patient  was  sitting  in  a  chair  by  the 
window,  and  that  he  would  soon  be  able  to  take  a  little 
passive  exercise  in  the  open  air.  Having  given  me  di 
rections  with  regard  to  getting  him  back  to  his  bed, 
when  he  should  become  tired  with  sitting,  he  went  away. 
The  sudden  realization  that  Henry  was  so  near  the  point 


344  Arthur  Bonnicastle. 

of  perfect  recovery  sent  the  blood  to  my  heart  with  a 
dull  throb  that  made  me  tremble.  I  knew  that  he  would 
endeavor  to  get  away  as  soon  as  possible,  and  that  he 
would  go  whenever  his  mother  should  consider  it  safe 
for  him  to  be  separated  from  her. 

"  Are  you  well  to-day  ?  "  I  said,  lifting  my  eyes  to  my 
aunt. 

"  Perfectly  well." 

"Are  you  willing  to  have  a  long  talk  with  me  this 
morning?"  I  inquired. 

She  looked  at  me  with  a  quick,  sharp  glance,  and  see 
ing  that  I  was  agitated,  replied  with  the  question  :  "  Is 
it  a  matter  of  great  importance  ?  " 

"  Yes,  of  the  greatest  importance." 

"  H'm  !     You're  not  in  love,  I  hope?  ". 

"  No,"  I  responded,  coloring  in  spite  of  the  terrible 
depression  that  had  come  upon  me,  "  though  I  probably 
should  not  tell  of  it  if  I  were." 

"  I'm  sure  I  don't  see  why  you  shouldn't,"  she  an 
swered  quickly. 

"No,"  I  said,  "it  has  nothing  to  do  with  that.  I 
wish  it  had,  but  it  doesn't  look  as  if  anything  of  that 
kind  would  ever  come  to  me." 

"  Psh  !  You're  a  boy.  Don't  worry  yourself  before 
your  time." 

We  were  seated  in  the  little  library  where  she  first  re 
ceived  me.  I  rose  from  my  chair,  went  to  the  door  that 
opened  into  the  hall,  and  locked  it.  The  door  into  the 
dining-room  stood  ajar,  and  I  threw  it  wide  open.  Then 
i  went  back  to  my  chair  and  sat  down.  She  watched 
these  movements  in  silent  astonishment,  and  her  eyes 
fairly  burned  with  excited  curiosity  when  I  concluded 
them. 

Looking  into  the  dining-room  upon  the  picture  that 
still  hung  where  I  had  replaced  it,  I  said  :  "  Aunt,  you 
must  forgive  me  ;  but  I  have  learned  all  about  that  pic- 


ArtJmr  Bonnicastlc.  345 

iure,  and  I  know  the  whole  history  of  the  person  whom 
it  represents." 

"  Who  has  been  base  enough  to  tell  you  ? "  she  almost 
screamed. 

"  A  person  who  wishes  no  harm  either  to  you  or  me," 
I  replied. 

She  had  risen  to  her  feet  at  the  first  announcement, 
but  she  sank  back  into  her  chair  again,  and  covered  her 
face  with  her  hands.  Suddenly  steeling  herself  against 
the  feelings  that  were  overwhelming  her,  she  dropped 
her  hands,  and  said,  with  a  voice  equally  charged  with 
fright  and  defiance  :  "  So,  this  is  the  important  busi 
ness,  is  it !  You  have  listened  to  the  voice  of  a  slan 
derer,  who  has  represented  me  to  be  little  better  than  a 
fiend  ;  and  I  am  to  be  lectured,  am  I  ?  You,  to  whom  I 
have  given  my  bread  and  my  fortune — you,  to  whom  I 
have  given  my  love— are  turning  against  me,  are  you  ? 
You  have  consented  to  sit  still  and  hear  me  maligned 
and  condemned,  have  you  ?  Do  you  wish  to  forsake 
me  ?  Have  I  done  anything  to  deserve  such  treatment 
at  your  hands  ?  Does  my  presence  defile  you  ?  Do  I 
go  about  meddling  with  other  people's  business  ?  Have 
I  meddled  with  anything  that  was  not  my  own  ?  I  would 
like  to  know  who  has  been  poisoning  your  mind  against 
me.  Has  there  been  anything  in  my  treatment  of  you 
that  would  lead  you  to  think  me  possessed  of  the 
devil  ?  " 

She  poured  out  these  words  in  a  torrent  so  impetuous 
and  continuous  that  I  could  not  even  attempt  to  interrupt 
her  ;  and  it  was  better  that  she  should  spend  the  first 
gush  of  her  passion  without  hindrance.  It  was  to  me  a 
terrible  revelation  of  the  condition  of  her  mind,  and  of 
the  agitations  to  which  it  was  familiar.  This  was  doubt 
less  the  first  utterance  to  which  those  agitations  had  ever 
forced  her. 

I  paused  for  a  minute  to  collect  my  thoughts,  while 


346  Arthur  Bonnicastle. 

she  buried  her  face  in  her  hands  again.  Then  I  said  : 
"  Mrs.  Sanderson,  I  have  noticed,  since  my  return  from 
college  particularly,  that  you  have  been  in  trouble.  I 
have  seen  you  many  times  before  that  picture,  and  known 
that  it  was  associated  in  your  mind  with  distressing 
thoughts.  It  has  troubled  me,  because  it  has  given  me 
the  impression  that  I  am  in  some  way,  directly  or  indi 
rectly,  connected  with  it.  I  have  sought  for  the  explana 
tion  and  found  it.  No  one  has  prejudiced  my  mind 
against  you,  as  I  will  prove  to  you  by  such  a  sacrifice 
as  few  men  have  been  called  upon  to  make.  You  have 
been  very  kind  to  me,  and  I  do  not  now  see  how  it  is  pos 
sible  for  me  ever  to  cease  to  be  grateful  to  you.  You 
have  been  my  most  generous  and  indulgent  benefactress, 
and  it  is  partly  because  I  am  grateful,  and  desire  to  prove 
my  gratitude,  that  I  have  sought  this  interview." 

She  looked  up  to  me  with  a  dazed,  distressed  expres 
sion  upon  her  sharpened  features,  as  if  waiting  for  me  to 
go  on. 

"  There  was  once  a  little  boy,"  I  said,  "  who  grew  up 
in  this  old  house,  under  his  mother's  care  ;  and  then  he 
went  away,  and  went  wrong.  His  mother  was  distracted 
with  his  ingratitude  and  his  excesses,  and  finally  cut  him 
adrift,  with  the  means  of  continuing  his  dissipations. 
After  a  time  he  married  one  of  God's  own  angels." 

"  You  know  nothing  about  it,"  she  interrupted,  spite 
fully.  "  You  know  nothing  about  her.  She  was  a  poor 
girl  without  any  position,  who  managed  to  weave  her  net 
about  him  and  inveigle  him  into  marriage.  I  cursed 
her  then,  and  I  curse  her  still." 

"  Don't,  aunt,"  I  said.  "  I  am  sure  you  have  done 
some  things  in  your  life  that  you  are  sorry  for,  and  I 
know  you  will  be  sorry  for  this." 

"  Don't  lecture  me,  boy." 

"  I  don't  lecture  you.  I  don't  presume  to  do  anything 
of  the  kind,  but  I  know  I  speak  the  truth." 


Arthur  Bonnicastle.  347 

"  Well,  then,  what  about  the  angel  ?  " 

"  She  did  her  best  to  make  him  what  his  mother  had 
failed  to  make  him." 

"  And  the  angel  failed,"  she  said  contemptuously. 
"  Certainly  a  woman  may  be  excused  for  not  accom 
plishing  what  a  superior  being  failed  to  accomplish." 

"  Yes,  the  angel  failed,  mainly  because  his  mother 
would  not  help  her." 

"  I  tell  you  again  that  you  know  nothing  about  it.  I 
am  a  fool  for  listening  to  another  word." 

It  was  a  strange  thing  to  me,  as  I  sat  before  this  agi 
tated  woman,  quarrelling  with  her  own  history,  and  help 
lessly  angry  with  me  and  with  the  unknown  man  who  had 
given  me  my  information,  to  find  myself  growing  cool  and 
strong  with  every  burst  of  her  passion.  I  had  found  and 
pierced  the  joints  of  her  closely-knit  harness.  I  was  in 
the  centre  of  the  rankling  secret  of  her  life,  and  she  was 
self-contained  no  longer.  I  was  in  power,  and  she  was 
fretfully  conscious  that  she  was  not. 

"  Yes,  the  angel  failed,  because  his  mother  would  not 
help  her.  I  presume  the  mother  intended  to  drive  that 
angel  to  forsake  him,  and  compel  him  to  return  to  her 
self.  If  she  did  not  have  so  good  a  motive  as  this,  she 
intended  to  drive  him  to  the  grave  into  which  he  was 
soon  gathered." 

"Oh,  Arthur  !  Arthur  !  Arthur  !  Don't  say  it !  don't 
say  it !  " 

The  anger  was  gone,  and  the  old  remorse  which  had 
been  eating  at  her  heart  for  years  resumed  its  sway. 
She  writhed  in  her  chair.  She  wrung  her  hands.  She 
rose  and  paced  the  room,  in  a  painful,  tottering  way, 
which  distressed  me,  and  made  me  fear  that  I  had  been, 
harsh,  or  had  chosen  the  wrong  plan  for  approaching  her 
and  executing  my  purpose. 

"  Yes,  aunt,  the  woman  was  an  angel.  If  she  had  not 
bee'ft,  she  would  have  become  a  torment  to  you.  Did 


343  ArtJtur  Bonnicastle. 

she  ever  write  to  you  ?  Did  she  ever  ask  a  favor  of  you  ? 
Do  you  suppose  that  she  would  ever  receive  from  you  a 
farthing  of  the  wealth  that  her  husband  would  rightly 
have  inherited,  unless  first  you  had  poured  out  your 
heart  to  her  in  a  prayer  for  forgiveness  ?  Has  she  acted 
like  a  mercenary  woman  ?  No,  aunt,  it  is  you  who  know 
nothing  about  her." 

"  She  was  nothing  to  me,"  Mrs.  Sanderson  said. 
"  She  never  could  have  been  anything  to  me." 

"  That  you  don't  know." 

"  Well,  what  else  have  you  to  say  ?  " 

"She  is  living  to-day,  and,  in  a  self-respectful  way, 
is  earning  her  own  livelihood."  * 

"  I  tell  you  again  she  is  nothing  to  me,"  my  aunt  re 
sponded.  "  She  is  doing  to-day  what  I  presume  she  did 
before  her  marriage.  I  know  of  no  reason  why  she 
should  not  earn  her  living.  She  probably  knows  me 
well  enough  to  know  that  I  will  do  nothing  for  her,  and 
can  be  nothing  to  her.  If  you  have  taken  it  into  your 
head  to  try  to  bring  me  to  recognize  her  and  give  her 
money,  I  can  tell  you  that  you  have  undertaken  a  very 
foolish  and  fruitless  enterprise.  If  this  is  all  you  have 
to  say  to  me,  we  may  as  well  stop  our  conversation  at 
once.  It  is  a  boy's  business,  and  if  you  know  what  is  for 
your  own  good  you  will  never  allude  to  her  again." 

She  rose  impatiently  as  if  determined  to  close  the  in 
terview,  but  I  did  not  stir;  so,  seeing  me  determined, 
she  sat  down  again. 

"Mrs.  Sanderson,"  I  said,  "is  your  heart  satisfied 
with  me  ?  Have  you  not,  especially  in  these  last  years 
and  months,  longed  for  some  one  of  your  own  blood  on 
whom  to  bestow  your  affections  ?  I  grant  that  you  have 
treated  me  like  a  son.  I  grant  that  I  not  only  have 
nothing  to  complain  of,  but  that  I  have  a  thousand 
things  to  be  grateful  for.  You  have  tried  to  love  me. 
You  have  determined  with  all  your  power  of  will  to  make 


Arthur  Bonnicastle.  349 

me  everything  to  yourself ;  but,  after  all,  are  you  satis 
fied  ?  Though  one  of  your  kindred,  my  blood  does  not 
come  near  enough  to  yours  to  make  me  yours.  Have 
you  not  longed  to  do  something  before  you  die  to  wipe 
out  the  memories  that  haunt  you  ?  " 

She  watched  me  with  sad,  wide-open  eyes,  as  I  firmly 
and  tenderly  said  all  this,  and  then,  as  if  she  could  con 
ceive  of  but  one  conclusion,  her  anger  rose  again,  and 
she  exclaimed  :  "  Don't  talk  to  me  any  more  about  this 
woman  !  I  tell  you  I  will  have  nothing  to  do  with  her." 

"  I  am  saying  nothing  about  this  woman,  aunt,"  I  re 
sponded.  "  I  am  going  to  talk  about  some  one  besides 
this  woman,  for  she  had  a  child,  of  whom  your  son  was 
the  father." 

"  What?" 

Half  exclamation,  half  interrogation,  the  word  pierced 
my  ears  like  a  scream. 

"  Mrs.  Sanderson,  you  are  the  grandmother  of  as  no 
ble  a  man  as  breathes." 

She  cried  ;  she  laughed  ;  she  exclaimed  :  "  Oh,  Ar 
thur  !  Oh,  God  !  "  She  covered  her  face  ;  she  threw  her 
handkerchief  upon  the  floor  ;  she  tore  open  her  dress  to 
relieve  her  throbbing  heart,  and  yielded  herself  to  such 
a  tumult  of  conflicting  passions  as  I  had  never  witnessed 
before — such  as  I  hope  I  may  never  be  called  upon  to 
witness  again.  I  sat  frightened  and  dumb.  I  feared  she 
would  die — that  she  could  not  survive  such  agitations. 

"  Ha  !  ha !  ha  !  I  have  a  grandson  !  I  have  a  grand 
son  !  Oh,  Arthur  !  Oh,  God  !  Is  it  so  ?  Is  it  so  ?  You 
lie  !  You  know  you  lie  !  You  are  deceiving  me.  Is  it  so, 
Arthur?  Say  it  again.  It  can't  be  so.  I  should  have 
known  it.  Somebody  has  lied  to  you.  Oh,  how  could 
you,  how  could  you  deceive  an  old  woman,  with  one  foot 
in  the  grave — an  old  woman  who  has  loved  you,  and 
done  all  she  could  for  you  ?  How  could  you,  Arthur  ?  " 

Thus  she  poured  out   her  emotions  and  doubts  and 


35°  Arthur  Donnicastlc. 

deprecations,  unmindful  of  all  my  attempts  to  interrupt 
her,  and  I  saw  at  once  that  it  was  the  only  mode  by 
which  she  could  ever  become  composed  enough  to  hear 
the  rest  of  my  story.  The  storm  could  only  resolve  it 
self  into  calm  through  the  processes  of  storm.  When  she 
had  exhausted  herself  she  sank  back  in  her  chair.  Then, 
as  if  moved  by  an  impulse  to  put  me  under  the  strongest 
motive  to  truthfulness,  she  rose  and  came  to  me.  With 
a  movement  so  sudden  that  I  was  entirely  unprepared 
for  it,  she  threw  herself  upon  my  lap,  and  clasping  her 
arms  around  my  neck,  placed  her  lips  close  to  my  ear, 
and  said  in  a  voice  surcharged  with  tender  pleading  : 
"  Don't  deceive  me,  dear !  Don't  be  cruel  to  me  !  I 
have  never  used  you  ill.  Tell  me  all  about  it,  just  as  it 
is.  I  am  an  old  woman.  I  have  only  a  little  while  to 
live." 

"  I  have  told  you  everything  just  as  it  is,"  I  responded. 

"  And  I  have  a  grandchild  ?  " 

"  One  that  you  may  love  and  be  proud  of." 

"  And  can  I  ever  see  him  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Do  yon  know  him  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"  Do  you  suppose  he  will  come  to  live  with  me,  it'  I 
ask  him  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know." 

"  Does  he  hate  me?" 

"  I  don't  think  he  hates  anybody." 

"  Is  he  with  his  mother  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"  Is  he  fond  of  her  ?" 

"  So  fond  of  her,"  I  answered,  "  that  he  will  accept 
no  invitation  from  you  that  does  not  include  her." 

"  I  take  it  all  back,  Arthur,"  she  said.     "  He  is  right 
He  is  a  Bonnicastle.     When  can  I  see  him  ?  " 

"  Soon,  1  think." 


Arthur  Bonnicastle.  351 

"  And  I  have  really  a  grandson — a  good  grandson  ? 
how  long  have  you  known  it  ?  " 

"  Only  a  few  days." 

"  Perhaps  I  shall  not  live  forty-eight  hours.  I  must 
see  him  at  once." 

"  You  shall  see  him  soon." 

Then  she  patted  my  cheek  and  kissed  me,  and  playel 
with  my  hair  like  a  child.  She  called  me  her  good  boy, 
her  noble  boy.  Then,  struck  suddenly  with  the  thought 
of  the  changes  that  were  progressing  in  her  own  mind 
and  affections,  and  the  changes  that  were  imminent  in 
her  relations  to  me,  she  rose  and  went  back  to  her  chair. 
When  I  looked  her  in  the  face  again,  I  was  astonished 
at  the  change  which  a  single  moment  of  reflection  had 
wrought  upon  her.  Her  anger  was  gone,  her  remorse 
had  vanished,  her  self-possession  had  come  back  to  her, 
enveloping  her  as  with  an  armor  of  steel,  and  she  was 
once  more  the  Mrs.  Sanderson  of  old.  How  was  she  to 
get  rid  of  me  ?  What  arrangement  could  she  make  to 
get  me  out  of  the  house,  loosen  my  hold  upon  my  ex 
pectations,  and  install  the  rightful  heir  of  her  wealth  in 
her  home  ?  She  turned  to  her  new  life  and  her  new 
schemes  with  the  eager  determination  of  a  woman  of 
business. 

"  What  has  led  you  to  this  announcement,  Arthur  ?  " 
she  inquired. 

"  A  wish  to  do  justice  to  all  the  parties  to  whom  it  re 
lates,"  I  replied. 

"  You  have  done  right,"  she  said,  "  and  of  course  you 
have  counted  the  cost.  If  my  grandson  comes  here, 
you  will  not  expect  to  stay.  Have  you  made  any  plans  ? 
Have  you  any  reward  to  ask  for  your  sacrifice  ?  I  trust 
that  in  making  up  your  mind  upon  this  point,  you  will 
remember  what  I  have  done  for  you.  You  will  find  my 
expenses  on  your  account  in  a  book  which  I  will  give 
you." 


352  AytJiur  Bonnicastle. 

The  cool  cruelty  of  the  woman,  at  this  supreme  mo 
ment  of  her  life,  angered  and  disgusted  me.  I  bit  my 
lips  to  keep  back  the  hot  words  that  pressed  for  utter 
ance.  Then,  with  all  the  calmness  I  could  command,  I 
said  :  "  Do  you  suppose  that  I  have  come  to  you  to-day 
to  sell  your  grandson  to  you  for  money  ?  Do  you  sup 
pose  that  your  dollars  weigh  a  pin  with  me  ?  Can't  you 
realize  that  I  am  voluntarily  relinquishing  the  hopes  and 
expectations  of  a  lifetime  ?  Can't  you  see  that  I  am  go 
ing  from  a  life  of  independence  to  one  of  labor  and 
struggle  ?  " 

"  Don't  be  angry,  Arthur,"  she  responded  coolly.  "  I 
have  given  you  your  education,  and  taken  care  of  you 
for  years.  I  have  done  it  under  the  impression  that  I 
had  no  heir.  You  tell  me  that  I  have  one,  and  now  I 
must  part  with  you.  You  foresaw  this,  and  I  supposed 
that  you  had  made  your  plans  for  it.  The  simple  ques 
tion  is,  how  much  do  you  want  in  consideration  of  your 
disappointment  ?  How  are  we  to  separate,  so  that  you 
shall  feel  satisfied  that  I  have  done  you  justice  ?  " 

"  I  have  no  stipulations  to  make,"  I  answered  ;  "  I 
understand  that  you  have  done  much  for  me,  and  that  I 
have  done  very  little  for  you,  indeed  ;  that  I  have  very 
poorly  improved  the  privileges  you  have  bestowed  upon 
me.  I  understand  that  you  do  not  consider  yourself 
under  the  slightest  obligation  to  me,  and  that  so  soon  as 
you  may  get  your  grandson  into  your  possession,  through 
my  means,  you  will  drop  me  and  be  glad  to  be  rid  of  me 
forever." 

"  You  speak  bitterly,  Arthur.  I  shall  always  be  inter 
ested  in  your  welfare,  and  shall  do  what  I  can  to  serve 
you  ;  but  when  we  separate  we  must  be  quits.  You 
know  my  mode  of  doing  business.  I  exact  my  rights  and 
pay  my  dues." 

"  I  have  no  bargains  to  make  with  you,  Mrs.  Sander 
son,"  I  said.  "  We  are  quits  nq\v.  I  confess  that  I 


Arthur  Bonnicastlc.  353 

have  had  a  dream  of  travel.  I  have  hoped  to  go  away 
after  this  change  in  my  life,  and  to  forget  it  among  new 
scenes,  and  prepare  myself  to  take  up  and  bear  a  burden 
for  which  my  life  here  has  done  much  to  unfit  me.  I 
have  dreamed  of  getting  away  from  Bradford  for  a  time, 
until  the  excitement  that  will  attend  these  changes  shall 
have  blown  over.  I  confess  that  I  shrink  from  meeting 
the  questions  and  sneers  that  await  me  ;  but  we  are  quits 
now."- 

"  Have  you  any  idea  what  the  expenses  of  a  foreign 
tour  will  be  ?  "  she  inquired  in  a  cool,  calculating  tone. 

"  Mrs.  Sanderson,  you  have  just  come  into  the  posses 
sion  of  the  most  precious  knowledge  the  world  holds  for 
you,  and  through  it  you  expect  to  receive  the  great  boon 
of  your  life.  All  this  comes  through  me.  Neither  your 
daughter-in-law  nor  your  grandson  would  ever  have  made 
themselves  known  to  you,  and  now,  when  I  have  sacrificed 
the  expectations  of  a  life  to  them  and  to  you,  you  talk 
about  the  price  of  a  foreign  trip  for  me,  as  if  you  were 
bargaining  for  a  horse.  No,  madam  ;  I  wash  my  hands 
of  the  whole  business,  and  it  is  better  for  us  both  to  talk 
no  more  about  this  matter.  We  are  quits  to-day.  I 
shall  feel  better  by  and  by,  but  you  have  disappointed 
me  and  made  me  very  unhappy." 

Even  while  I  talked,  I  could  see  her  face  harden  from 
moment  to  moment.  Her  heart  had  gone  out  toward  her 
heir  with  a  selfish  affection,  which  slowly,  quietly,  and 
surely  shut  out  every  other  human  being.  She  grudged 
me  every  dollar  of  her  fortune  on  his  behalf.  The  mo 
ment  she  ceased  to  regard  me  as  her  heir,  I  stood  in  the 
same  relation  to  her  that  any  other  poor  young  man  in 
Bradford  occupied.  Her  wealth  was  for  her  grandson. 
She  would  pay  to  him,  on  his  father's  account,  every  dol 
lar  she  held.  She  would  lavish  upon  him  every  affection, 
and  every  service  possible.  She  would  offer  herself  and 
her  possessions  to  atone  for  wrongs  for  which  her  con- 
23 


354  Arthur  Bonnicastlc. 

science  had  upbraided  her  more  and  more,  as  her  life  had 
approached  its  close.  She  longed  for  this  consummation, 
and  looked  to  it  for  peace. 

Thus  I  reached  the  moment  of  transition,  and  in  dis 
appointment  and  bitterness — feeling  that  my  sacrifice 
was  not  appreciated,  and  that  my  benefactress  had  lost 
all  affection  for  and  interest  in  me — I  took  up  the  burden 
of  my  own  life,  determined  that  on  no  consideration 
would  I  receive,  beyond  the  clothes  I  wore,  one  dollar 
more  of  the  fortune  on  which  I  had  lived. 

"  When  can  I  see  my  grandson  ?  " 

"  When  you  choose." 

"Today?" 

"  Yes." 

"  Bring  him  to  me." 

"  I  must  go  to  my  room  first,"  I  said. 

I  mounted  to  my  chamber,  and  threw  myself  into  my 
accustomed  chair  by  the  window.  I  had  passed  into  a 
new  world.  The  charming  things  about  me,  which  I 
had  counted  my  own,  were  another's.  The  old  house 
and  the  broad,  beautiful  acres  which  stretched  around 
it  were  alienated  forever.  I  realized  that  every  dollar 
that  had  been  bestowed  upon  me,  and  every  privilege, 
service,  and  attention  I  had  received,  had  come  from  a 
supremely  selfish  heart,  through  motives  that  sought 
only  to  fill  an  empty  life,  and  to  associate  with  an  hon 
ored  ancestral  name  the  wealth  which  could  not  be  taken 
out  of  the  world  with  its  possessor.  A  mercenary  value 
had  been  placed  upon  every  sentiment  of  gratitude  and 
respect  and  love  which  my  benefactress  had  inspired  in 
me.  I  had  been  used  as  a  thing  of  convenience,  and 
being  a  thing  of  convenience  no  longer,  I  was  dropped 
as  a  burden.  I  was  humiliated,  shamed,  angered  by 
the  way  in  which  I  had  been  treated,  but  I  was  cured. 
The  gifts  that  I  had  received  looked  hateful  to  me.  The 
position  I  had  occupied— the  position  in  which  I  had 


Arthur  Bonnicastlc.  355 

not  only  grown  to  be  content,  but  in  which  I  had  nursed 
and  developed  a  degree  of  aristocratic  pride — seemed 
most  unmanly.  I  had  been  used,  played  with,  petted, 
fed  with  daily  indulgences  and  great  promises,  and  then 
cast  away,  there  being  no  further  use  for  me. 

"  Never  again  !  "  I  said  to  myself — "  never  again  !  I 
would  not  take  another  dollar  from  this  estate  and  its 
owner  to  keep  myself  from  starving." 

The  dream  of  travel  was  shattered.  My  new  life  and 
relations  were  squarely  before  me.  Where  and  what  I 
should  be  in  a  week  I  did  not  know.  What  old  friends 
would  fall  away  from  me,  what  new  friends  I  should 
make,  how  I  should  earn  the  bread  which  had  thus  far 
been  supplied,  was  all  uncertain. 

I  believed,  however,  that  I  had  done  my  duty ;  and 
out  of  all  my  shame  and  disappointment  and  disgust  and 
apprehension,  there  rose  within  me  a  sentiment  of  self- 
respect  and  a  feeling  of  strength.  And  when  I  thought 
of  all  the  circumstances  that  had  conspired  to  bring  me 
to  this  point,  I  could  not  doubt  that  Providence — the 
great  will  that  embraces  all  wills — the  supreme  plan 
that  subordinates  and  weaves  into  serviceable  relations 
all  plans — the  golden  fabric  that  unrolls  from  day  to  day, 
with  the  steady  revolutions  of  the  stars,  and  rolls  up 
again,  studded  thick  with  the  designs  of  men — had  or 
dered  everything,  and  ordered  it  aright.  It  was  best  for 
me  that  I  had  gone  through  with  my  indulgences  and  my 
discipline.  It  was  best  for  me  that  I  had  passed  through 
the  peculiar  experiences  of  my  life.  It  was  best  for  Mrs. 
Sanderson  that  she  had  been  tormented,  and  that,  at 
last,  she  was  passing  into  the  hands  that  were  strong  and 
steady — hands  that  would  lead  her  aright — hands  into 
which  she  was  ready  to  throw  herself,  with  self-aban 
doning  love  and  trust.  It  was  best  that  Henry  had 
struggled  and  learned  the  worth  of  money,  and  acquired 
sympathy  and  respect  for  the  poor.  It  was  best  that 


ArtJiur  Bonnicastle. 

the  feet  of  all  the  persons  concerned  in  this  great  chang* 
of  relations  should  be  brought  together  at  last,  by  a  se 
ries  of  coincidences  that  seemed  well-nigh  miraculous. 

One  thing  struck  me  as  being  very  singular,  viz. :  that 
Mrs.  Sanderson  was  so  easily  satisfied  that  she  had  a 
grandson,  and  that  I  not  only  knew  him,  but  that  he 
was  close  at  hand.  It  only  showed  how  eagerly  ready 
she  was  to  believe  it,  and  to  believe  that  I  had  prepared 
everything  to  satisfy  her  desire.  In  another  frame  of 
mind — if  another  frame  of  mind  had  been  possible — she 
would  have  questioned  me— doubted  me — put  me  to  the 
proof  of  my  statements  ;  but  she  was  ready  to  accept 
anything  on  my  simple  assurance.  After  sitting  quietly 
for  an  hour,  I  rose  with  a  long  sigh.  I  had  still  the 
duty  of  presenting  Henry  Sanderson — for  that  was  his 
real  name — to  his  grandmother.  My  heart  throbbed 
wildly  every  time  the  thought  of  this  meeting  came  to 
me.  I  had  said  nothing  to  Henry,  for  I  knew  that  it 
would  distress  him  beyond  measure — nay,  that,  disabled 
as  he  was,  he  would  contrive  some  way  to  get  out  of  the 
house  and  out  of  the  town.  Nothing  but  a  sense  of  free 
dom  from  detection  and  discovery  had  ever  reconciled 
him  and  his  mother  to  an  hour's  residence  in  The  Man 
sion.  Hidden  away  in  this  New  England  town,  toward 
which  they  had  drifted  from  the  far  South,  partly  on  the 
current  of  circumstances,  and  partly  by  the  force  of  a 
desire  to  see  and  know  the  early  home  and  associations 
of  the  husband  and  father,  they  did  not  doubt  that  they 
could  cover  their  identity  so  perfectly  that  it  would  not 
be  suspected.  Henry  had  studiously  kept  away  from 
the  house.  His  mother  had  met  Mrs.  Sanderson  en' 
tirely  by  accident,  and  had  taken  a  sweet  and  self- 
amusing  revenge  by  compelling  her  to  love  and  trust 
her.  They  had  confided  their  secret  to  but  one  man, 
and  he  had  had  their  permission  to  confide  it  to  his  fam 
ily.  Through  all  these  long  years,  the  two  families  had 


ArtJiur  Bonnicastle.  357 

been  intimate  friends,  and  Mr.  Bradford  had  endeav 
ored  in  every  possible  way  to  obtain  their  consent  to  the 
course  he  had  pursued,  but  in  vain.  After  the  death  of 
Mrs.  Sanderson,  he  would  doubtless  have  informed  me 
of  Henry's  natural  claims  to  the  estate,  relying  upon 
my  sense  of  justice  and  my  love  for  him  for  its  divi 
sion  between  us  ;  but  he  saw  that  my  prospecfs  were 
ruining  me,  and  so  had  taken  the  matter  into  his  own 
hands,  simply  confiding  the  facts  of  the  case  to  my 
father  and  Mr.  Bird,  and  acting  with  their  advice  and 
consent. 

I  drew  out  my  trunk,  and  carefully  packed  my  cloth 
ing.  Not  an  article  in  the  room  that  was  not  necessary 
to  me  did  I  take  from  its  place.  It  would  be  Henry's 
room,  and  all  the  choice  ornaments  and  appointments 
that  I  had  had  the  happy  pains  to  gather,  were  left  to 
please  his  eye  and  remind  him  of  me.  The  occupation, 
while  it  pained  me,  gave  me  strength  and  calmness. 
When  the  work  was  done,  I  locked  my  trunk,  put  the 
key  in  my  pocket,  and  was  about  to  leave  the  room 
when  there  came  to  me  the  sense  of  a  smile  from  the 
skies.  A  cloud  had  been  over  the  sun,  and  as  it  passed 
a  flood  of  sunlight  filled  the  room,  growing  stronger  and 
stronger  until  my  eyes  were  almost  blinded  by  the  sweet 
effulgence.  I  was  not  superstitious,  but  it  seemed  as  if 
God  had  given  me  his  benediction. 

I  turned  the  key  in  my  door,  and  bowed  at  my  bed. 
"Dear  Father,"  I  said,  "at  last  nothing  stands  be 
tween  Thee  and  me.  That  which  I  have  loved  better 
than  Thee  is  gone,  and  now  I  beg  Thee  to  help  me  and 
lead  me  in  Thine  own  way  to  Thyself.  I  shrink  froir.. 
the  world,  but  Thou  hast  made  it.  I  shrink  from  toil 
and  struggle,  but  Thou  hast  ordained  them.  Help  me 
to  be  a  man  after  Thine  own  heart.  Give  me  wisdom, 
guidance,  and  assistance.  Help  me  to  lay  aside  my 
selfishness,  my  love  of  luxury  and  ease,  and  to  go  down 


358  Arthur  Bonnicastle. 

heartily  into  the  work  of  the  world,  and  to  build  my  life 
upon  sure  foundations." 

Then  there  rose  in  me  a  flood  of  pity  and  charity  for 
one  who  had  so  long  been  my  benefactress  ;  and  I 
prayed  for  her — that  in  her  new  relations  she  might  be 
blessed  with  content  and  satisfaction,  and  that  her  last 
days  might  be  filled  with  something  better  than  she  had 
known.  I  forgave  her  for  her  quick  and  complete  re 
nunciation  of  myself,  and  the  cruel  wounds  she  had  in 
flicted  upon  my  pride,  and  felt  the  old  good-will  of 
childhood  welling  in  my  heart.  I  enveloped  her  with 
my  charity.  I  crowned  her  with  the  grace  of  pardon. 

When  I  went  downstairs  I  found  her  awaiting  me  in 
the  room  where  I  had  left  her.  She  sat  holding  a  paper 
in  her  hand.  She  had  dressed  herself  in  her  best,  as  if 
she  were  about  to  receive  a  prince.  There  was  a  bright 
spot  of  red  on  either  thin  and  wrinkled  cheek,  and  her 
eyes  shone  like  fire. 

"  You  are  sure  you  have  made  no  mistake,  Arthur  ?  " 
she  said,  with  a  voice  quite  unnatural  in  its  quavering 
sharpness. 

"  Quite  sure,"  I  answered. 

"  This,"  said  she,  holding  up  her  paper,  "  is  my  will. 
There  is  no  will  of  mine  besides  this  in  existence.  I 
have  no  time  to  ask  my  lawyer  here  to-day  to  make  an 
other.  Life  is  uncertain,  and  there  must  be  no  mistake. 
I  wish  you  to  go  with  me  to  the  kitchen." 

She  rose  and  I  followed  her  out.  I  could  not  imagine 
what  she  would  do,  but  she  went  straight  to  the  old-fash 
ioned  fireplace,  where  the  dinner  was  cooking,  and  hold 
ing  the  paper  in  her  hands,  opened  it,  and  asked  me  to 
read  the  beginning  of  it  and  the  signatures.  I  did  so, 
and  then  she  laid  it  upon  the  coals.  The  quick  flame 
shot  up,  and  we  both  looked  on  in  silence,  until  nothing 
was  left  of  it  but  white  ashes,  which  a  breath  would  scat 
ter.  The  elements  had  swallowed  all  my  claim  to  hei 


Arthur  Bonnicastle.  359 

large  estate.  The  old  cook  regarded  us  in  wondering  si> 
lence,  with  her  hands  upon  her  hips,  and  watched  us  as 
we  turned  away  from  the  fire,  and  left  her  alone  in  her 
domain. 

When  we  returned  to  the  library,  Mrs.  Sanderson 
said  :  "  The  burning  of  that  will  is  equivalent  to  writing 
another  in  favor  of  my  grandson  ;  so,  if  I  make  no  other, 
you  will  know  the  reason." 

She  pressed  her  hand  upon  her  heart  in  a  distressed 
way,  and  added:  "  I  am  as  nearly  ready  as  I  ever  .can 
be  to  see " 

"  Henry  Sanderson,"  I  said. 

"  Is  that  his  name  ?  Is  that  his  real  name  ?  "  she 
asked,  eagerly. 

"It  is." 

"  And  it  will  all  go  to  Henry  Sanderson  !  " 

The  intense,  triumphant  satisfaction  with  which  she 
said  this  was  almost  enough,  of  itself,  to  repay  me  for  the 
sacrifice  I  had  made. 

"  Mrs.  Sanderson,"  I  said, "  I  have  put  into  my  trunk 
the  clothes  I  need,  and  when  I  go  away  I  will  send  for 
them.  I  have  left  everything  else." 

"  For  Henry — my  Henry  Sanderson  !" 

"  Yes,  for  your  Henry  ;  and  now  I  must  go  up  and 
see  my  Henry  and  Mrs.  fielden  ;  for  after  I  have  pre 
sented  your  grandson  to  you  I  shall  go  away." 

1  mounted  the  stairs  with  a  throbbing  heart,  and  a  face 
that  told  the  tale  of  a  terrible  excitement  and  trouble. 
Both  Henry  and  his  mother  started  as  I  came  into  the 
room,  and  simultaneously  uttered  the  words,  "  What  is 
it,  Arthur?  " 

"  Nothing,  except  that  my  aunt  and  I  have  had  a  talk, 
and  I  am  going  away." 

A  quick,  involuntary  glance  passed  between  the  pair, 
but  both  waited  to  hear  my  announcement. 

"  I  am  glad  you  are  here,"  I  said.     "  You  can  stay  as 


360  ArtJnir  Bonnicastle. 

long  as  you  wish,  but  I  am  going  away.  I  shall  see  you 
again,  but  never  as  an  inmate  of  this  house.  I  want  to 
thank  you  for  all  your  kindness  and  love,  and  to  assure 
you  that  I  shall  always  remember  you.  Mrs.  Belden, 
you  never  kissed  me  :  kiss  me  now." 

The  dear  woman  looked  scared,  but  obeyed  my  wish. 
I  sat  down  on  Henry's  bed  and  laid  my  head  beside  his. 
"  Good -by,  old  boy  ;  good-by  !  Thank  you  for  all  your 
faithfulness  to  me  and  for  your  example.  I  hope  some 
time  to  be  ha3f  as  good  as  you  are." 

My  eyes  were  flooded  with  tears,  and  both  Mrs.  Bel- 
den  and  Henry  were  weeping  in  sympathy. 

"  What  is  it,  Arthur  ?  what  is  it  ?  Tell  us.  Perhaps 
we  can  help  you." 

"  Whatever  it  is,  it  is  all  right,"  I  answered.  "  Some 
time  you  will  know,  and  you  will  find  that  I  am  not  to 
blame." 

Then  I  shook  their  hands,  went  abruptly  out  of  the 
room,  and  ran  downstairs  to  Mrs.  Sanderson.  She  saw 
that  I  was  strangely  agitated,  and  rose  feebly  as  I  en 
tered. 

"  I  wish  you  to  go  upstairs  with  me  before  I  leave,"  I 
said.  "  Will  you  be  kind  enough  to  go  with  me  now  ?  " 

There  was  no  dawning  suspicion  in  her  heart  of  what 
I  had  prepared  for  her.  She«had  expected  me  to  go  out 
and  bring  in  a  stately  stranger  for  whose  reception  she 
had  prepared  her  toilet.  She  had  wondered  how  he 
would  look,  and  by  what  terms  she  should  address  him. 

I  gave  her  my  arm  and  we  slowly  walked  up  the  stairs 
together,  while  my  heart  was  beating  so  heavily  that  I 
could  hear  it,  blow  upon  blow,  in  my  ears.  I  knocked 
at  Henry's  door  and  entered.  The  moment  Henry  and 
his  mother  saw  us  together,  and  caught  the  agitated  look 
that  both  of  us  wore,  they  anticipated  the  announcement 
that  was  imminent,  and  grew  pale  as  ghosts. 

"  Mrs.  Sanderson,"  I  said,  without  offering  her  a  seat, 


Arthur  Bonnicastle.  361 

"  this  is  Mrs.  Belden  Hulm,  your  daughter-in-law,  and 
this  (turning  to  Henry)  is  your  grandson,  Henry  San 
derson.  May  God  bless  you  all !" 

I  dropped  her  arm  and  rushed  to  the  door.  A  hurried 
glance  behind  me  showed  that  she  was  staggering  and 
falling.  Turning  swiftly  back,  I  caught  her,  while  Mrs. 
Hulm  supported  her  upon  the  other  side,  and  together 
we  led  her  to  Henry's  bed.  Then  she  dropped  upon  her 
knees  and  Henry  threw  his  arms  around  her  neck,  and 
said  softly  :  "  Grandmother !  " 

"  My  boy,  my  boy !  "  was  all  she  could  say,  and  it 
was  enough. 

Then  I  left  them.  I  heard  Henry  say  :  "  Don't  go," 
but  I  did  not  heed  him.  Running  downstairs,  with 
limbs  so  weak  with  excitement  that  I  could  hardly  stand, 
I  seized  my  hat  in  the  hall,  and  went  out-of-doors,  and 
hurriedly  took  my  way  toward  my  father's  house.  I  did 
not  even  cast  a  glance  at  the  Bradford  residence,  so  ab 
sorbed  was  I  in  the  events  in  which  I  had  been  an  actor. 
The  vision  of  the  three  persons  clustered  at  Henry's  bed, 
the  thought  of  the  powerful  emotions  that  were  surging 
in  them  all,  the  explanations  that  were  pouring  from 
Henry's  lips,  the  prayers  for  forgiveness  that  my  old 
benefactress  was  uttering,  tand  the  dreams  of  the  new 
life  of  The  Mansion  which  I  had  inaugurated  blotted  out 
the  sense  of  my  own  sacrifice,  and  made  me  oblivious  to 
all  around  me.  Men  spoke  to  me  on  the  street,  and  I 
remembered  afterward  that  I  did  not  answer  them.  I 
walked  in  a  dream,  and  was  at  my  father's  door  before 
I  was  aware.  I  felt  that  I  was  not  ready  to  go  in,  so  I 
turned  away  and  continued  my  walk.  Up  the  long 
streets  I  went,  wrapped  in  my  dream.  Down  through 
the  busy  life  along  the  wharves  I  wandered,  and  looked 
out  upon  the  water.  The  sailors  were  singing,  children 
were  playing,  apple-women  were  chaffing,  but  nothing 
could  divert  me.  My  heart  was  in  the  room  I  had  left. 


362  Arthur  Bonnicastlc. 

The  scene  was  burnt  indelibly  upon  my  memory,  and 
no  new  impression  could  take  its  place. 

Slowly  I  turned  toward  home  again.  I  had  mastered 
myself  sufficiently  to  be  able  to  think  of  my  future,  and 
of  the  necessities  and  proprieties  of  my  new  position. 
When  I  reached  my  father's  house,  I  found  Mrs.  Sander 
son's  man-servant — old  Jenk's  successor — waiting  at  the 
gate  with  a  message  from  Henry,  desiring  my  immediate 
return  to  The  Mansion,  and  requesting  that  I  bring  with 
me  my  sister  Claire.  This  latter  request  was  one  that 
brought  me  to  myself.  I  had  now  the  responsibility  of 
leading  another  through  a  great  and  unanticipated  ex 
citement.  Dismissing  the  servant,  with  a  promise  to  obey 
his  new  master's  wish,  I  went  into  the  house,  and  found 
myself  so  much  in  self-possession  that  I  told  Claire  with 
calmness  of  the  message,  and  refrained  from  all  allusion 
to  what  had  occurred.  Claire  dressed  herself  quickly, 
and  I  could  see  as  she  presented  herself  for  the  walk  that 
she  was  full  of  wonder.  Nothing  was  said  as  we  passed 
out.  There  was  a  strange  silence  in  the  family.  The 
message  meant  a  great  deal,  and  all  so  thoroughly  trusted 
Henry  that  no  questions  were  asked. 

When  we  were  away  from  the  house,  I  said  :  "  Claire, 
you  must  be  a  woman  to-day.  Strange  things  have  hap 
pened.  Brace  yourself  for  anything  that  may  come." 

"  What  can  you  mean  ?  Has  anything  happened  to — • 
to  him  ?  " 

"  Yes,  much — much  to  him,  and  much  to  me  ;  and 
something  very  strange  and  unexpected  will  happen  to 
you." 

She  stopped  short  in  the  street,  and  grasping  my  two 
hands  nervously,  exclaimed  :  "  Tell  me  what  it  is." 

"  My  dear,"  I  said.  "  my  life  at  Mrs.  Sanderson's  has 
ceased.  I  am  no  more  her  heir,  for  Henry  is  discovered 
to  be  her  own  grandson." 

"  You  deceive  me  ;  you  can't  mean  it." 


Arthur  Bonnicastle.  363 

'•'  It  is  just  as  I  tell  you." 

She  burst  into  a  fit  of  weeping  so  passionate  and  un 
controllable  that  in  a  low  voice  I  said,  "  You  must  com 
mand  yourself.  You  are  observed." 

We  resumed  our  walk,  but  it  was  a  long  time  before 
she  could  speak.  At  length  she  said,  "  I  am  so  sorry  foi 
you,  and  so  sorry  for  myself.  I  do  not  want  it  so.  It 
changes  all  my  plans.  I  never  can  be  to  him  what  I 
could  be  if  he  were  poor ;  and  you  are  to  work.  Did  he 
know  he  was  her  grandson  ?  " 

"  Yes,  he  has  always  known  it." 

"  And  he  never  told  me  a  word  about  it.  How  could 
he  treat  me  so  like  a  child  ?  " 

She  was  half  angry  with  the  thought  that  he  had  shut 
from  her  the  most  important  secret  of  his  life.  As  to  the 
fortune  which  was  opened  to  her,  it  did  not  present  to 
her  a  single  charm.  The  thought  of  it  oppressed  and 
distressed  her.  It  made  her  life  so  large  that  she  could 
not  comprehend  it.  She  had  had  no  natural  growth  up 
to  it  and  into  it. 

When  we  reached  The  Mansion  she  was  calm  ;  and  it 
seemed,  as  we  stood  at  the  door  and  I  looked  inquiringly 
into  her  face,  as  if  her  beauty  had  taken  on  a  maturer 
charm  while  we  had  walked.  I  led  her  directly  to  Henry's 
room,  and  there,  in  the  presence  of  Mrs.  Sanderson,  who 
sat  holding  Henry's  hand  as  if  she  were  determined  that 
her  newly  found  treasure  should  not  escape  her,  and  in 
the  presence  of  Henry's  mother,  neither  of  whom  she 
either  addressed  or  regarded,  she  stooped  and  received 
her  lover's  kiss.  I  saw  simply  this,  and  with  tears  in 
my  eyes  went  out  and  closed  the  door  softly  behind  me. 
What  occurred  during  that  interview  I  never  knew.  It 
was  an  interview  so  tenderly  sacred  that  neither  Henry 
nor  Claire  ever  alluded  to  it  afterward.  I  went  down 
stairs,  and  awaited  its  conclusion.  At  the  end  of  half  an 
hour,  I  heard  voices  whispering  above,  then  the  footsteps 


364  Arthur  Bonnicastle. 

of  Mrs.  Sanderson  going  to  her  chamber,  and  then  the 
rustle  of  dresses  upon  the  stairs.  I  went  out  into  the 
hall,  and  met  Mrs.  Hulm  and  Claire  with  their  arms 
around  each  other.  Their  eyes  were  wet,  but  they  were 
luminous  with  a  new  happiness,  and  I  knew  that  all  had 
been  settled,  and  settled  aright. 

"  Henry  wishes  to  see  you,"  said  his  mother. 

I  cannot  tell  how  much  I  dreaded  this  interview.  I 
knew  of  course  that  it  would  come,  sooner  or  later,  and 
I  dreaded  it  as  much  on  Henry's  account  as  on  my  own. 

I  sat  down  by  his  bed,  and  gave  to  his  eager  grasp  both 
my  hands.  He  looked  at  me  with  tears  rolling  down  his 
cheeks,  with  lips  compressed  and  with  the  perspiration 
standing  unbrushed  from  his  forehead,  but  without  the 
power  to  speak  a  word.  I  pulled  out  my  handkerchief, 
and  wiped  his  forehead  and  his  cheeks. 

"  Are  you  happy,  Henry  ?  "  I  said. 

"  Yes,  thank  God  and  you,"  he  answered,  with  chok 
ing  emotion. 

"  So  am  I." 

"  Are  you  ?  Are  you  ?  Oh  Arthur  !  What  can  I  ever 
do  to  show  you  my  gratitude  ?  How  can  I  look  on  and 
see  you  toiling  to  win  the  bread  you  have  voluntarily  given 
to  me  ? " 

"  You  have  had  your  hard  time,  and  I  my  easy  one. 
Now  we  are  to  change  places,  that's  all,  and  it  is  right. 
You  hare  learned  the  value  of  money,  and  you  will 
spend  this  which  has  come  to  you  as  it  ought  to  be  spent." 

"  But  it  is  not  the  money  ;  it  is  the  home  of  my  father 
• — the  home  of  my  ancestors.  It  is  a  home  for  my  mother. 
It  is  rest  from  uncertain  wandering.  I  cannot  tell  you 
what  it  is.  It  is  something  so  precious  that  money  can 
not  represent  it.  It  is  something  so  precious  that  I  would 
willingly  work  harder  all  my  life  for  having  found  it.  And 
now,  my  dear  fellow,  what  can  I  do  for  you  ?  " 

"  Nothing — only  love  me." 


Arthur  Bonnicastle.  365 

"  But  I  must  do  more.  Your  home  must  be  here.  You 
must  share  it  with  me." 

"  No,  Henry,  the  word  is  spoken.  You  have  come  to 
your  own,  and  I  shall  go  to  mine.  My  lot  shall  be  my 
father's  lot,  until  I  can  make  it  better.  We  shall  be 
friends  forever.  The  surrender  I  have  made  shall  do  me 
more  good  than  it  has  done  you.  You  did  not  absolutely 
need  it,  and  I  did.  You  could  do  without  it  and  I  could 
not.  And  now,  let's  not  talk  about  it  any  more." 

We  embraced  and  kissed  as  if  we  had  been  lovers,  and 
I  left  him,  to  walk  back  with  Claire.  That  night  the 
story  was  all  told  in  our  little  home.  My  trunk  was 
brought  and  carried  to  my  bare  and  cramped  chamber  ; 
and  when  the  accustomed  early  hour  for  retirement  came 
I  knelt  with  the  other  children  and  worshipped  as  of  old. 
My  father  was  happy,  my  mother  was  reconciled  to  the 
change,  for  Claire  had  been  recognized  at  The  Mansion, 
and  I  went  to  bed  and  rested  through  a  dreamless  sleep 
until  the  morning  light  summoned  me  to  new  changes 
and  new  duties. 


CHAPTER   XXIII. 

I  TAKE  ARTHUR   BONNICASTLE  UPON   MY  OWN   HANDS 
AND   SUCCEED   WITH   HIM. 

IN  a  small  town  like  Bradford,  the  birds  have  a  way 
of  collecting  and  carrying  news,  quite  unknown  in  more 
considerable  cities  ;  and,  apparently,  a  large  flock  of 
them  had  been  around  The  Mansion  during  the  events 
narrated  in  the  preceding  chapter ;  for,  on  the  following 
day,  the  community  was  alive  with  rumors  concerning 
them.  A  daily  paper  had  just  been  established,  whose 
enterprising  editor  deemed  it  his  special  duty  and  privi 
lege  to  bruit  such  personal  and  social  intelligence  as  he 


566  Arthur  Bonnicastle. 

could  gain  by  button-holing  his  victims  on  the  street,  ol 
by  listening  to  the  voluntary  tattle  of  busy-bodies.  My 
good  angel,  Mr.  Bradford,  apprehending  an  unpleasant 
notoriety  for  me,  and  for  the  occurrences  associated 
with  my  name,  came  to  me  at  once  and  heard  my  story. 
Then  he  visited  the  editor,  and  so  represented  the  case 
to  him  that,  on  the  second  morning  after  taking  up  my 
home  with  my  father,  I  had  the  amusement  of  reading  a 
whole  column  devoted  to  it.  The  paper  was  very  wet 
and  very  dirty  ;  and  I  presume  ^that  that  column  was 
read  with  more  interest,  by  all  the  citizens  of  Bradford, 
than  anything  of  national  import  which  it  might  have 
contained.  I  will  reproduce  only  its  opening  and  clos 
ing  paragraphs  : 

ROMANCE  IN  HIGH  LIFE. — Our  little  city  was  thrown  into  in 
tense  excitement  yesterday,  by  rumors  of  a  most  romantic  and 
extraordinary  character,  concerning  occurrences  at 

A   CERTAIN    MANSION, 

which  occupies  an  elevated  position,  locally,  socially,  and  histori 
cally.  It  appears  that  a  certain  estimable  young  man,  whose  he 
roic  feat  cost  him  so  dearly  in  a  recent  struggle  with 

A   MIDNIGHT   ASSASSIN, 

is  the  natural  heir  to  the  vast  wealth  which  he  so  gallantly  res 
cued  from  spoliation,  and  that 

A   CERTAIN    ESTIMABLE    LADY, 

well  known  to  our  citizens  as  the  companion  of  a  certain  other 
lady,  also  well  known,  is  his  mother.  Nothing  more  startling  than 
the  developments  in  this  case  has  occurred  in  the  eventful  history 
of  our  city. 

A   MYSTERY 

has  always  hung  around  these  persons,  and  we  are  not  among 
those  who  are  surprised  at  the  solution.  But  the  most  remarka 
ble  part  of  the  story  is  that  which  relates  to  the  young  man  who 


Arthur  Bonnicastle.  367 

has  been  reared  with  the  expectation  of  becoming  the  owner  of 
this  magnificent  estate.  Upon  learning  the  relations  of  the  young 
man  previously  alluded  to,  to  his  benefactress,  he  at  once,  in  loy 
alty  to  his  friend  and  his  own  personal  honor,  renounced  forevei 
his  expectations,  surrendered  his  position  to  the  heir  so  strangely 
discovered,  and  took  up  his  abode  in  his  father's  humble  home. 
This  act,  than  which  none  nobler  was  ever  performed,  was,  we 
are  assured. by  as  good  authority  as  there  is  in  Bradford,  wholly 
voluntary. 

WE  GIVE  THAT  YOUNG  MAN  OUR  HAT — 

Miller  &  Sons'  best — and  alteure  him  that,  in  whatever  position  he 
may  choose  to  take  in  this  community,  he  will  have  such  support 
as  our  humble  editorial  pen  may  give  him.  We  feel  that  no  less 
than  this  is  due  to  his  nobility  of  character. 

After  half  a  dozen  paragraphs  in  this  strain,  the  article 
closed  as  follows  : 

It  is  rumored  that  the  newly  found  heir  has  formed 

A  TENDER  ALLIANCE 

with  a  beautiful  young  lady — a  blonde — who  is  not  a  stranger  in 
the  family  of  our  blue-eyed  hero — an  alliance  which  will  enable 
her  to 

SHARE    HIS   BONNY    CASTLE, 

and  unite  the  fortunes  of  the  two  families  in  indissoluble  bonds. 
Long  may  they  wave  ! 

Far  be  it  from  us,  enthroned  upon  the  editorial  tripod,  and 
wielding  the  sceptre  of  the  press,  to  invade  the  sanctities  of  pri 
vate  life,  and  we  therefore  withhold  all  names.  It  was  due  to  the 
parties  concerned  and  to  the  public,  however,  to  state  the  facts, 
and  put  an  end  to  gossip  and  conjecture  among  those  who  have 
no  better  business  than  that  of  tampering  with  the  secrets  of  the 
hearthstone  and  the  heart. 

During  the  day,  I  broke  through  the  reluctance  which 
1  naturally  felt  to  encounter  the  public  gaze,  after  this 
exposure  of  my  affairs,  and  went  out  upon  the  street. 
Of  course,  I  found  myself  the  object  of  universal  curios- 


368  Arthur  Bonnicastle. 

ity  and  the  subject  of  universal  remark.  Never  in  my 
life  had  I  been  treated  with  more  deference.  Something 
high  in  position  had  been  won  back  to  the  sphere  of 
common  life ;  and  common  life  was  profoundly  inter 
ested.  My  editorial  friend  had  so  represented  the  case 
as  to  win  for  me  something  better  than  sympathy  ;  and 
a  good-natured  reticence  under  all  inquiries,  on  my  own 
part,  seemed  to  enhance  the  respect  of  the  people  for 
me.  But  I  had  something  more  important  on  hand  than 
seeking  food  for  my  vanity.  I  h«d  myself  on  hand  and 
my  future  ;  and  the  gossip  of  the  community  was,  for 
the  first  time  in  my  life,  a  matter  of  indifference. 

It  occurred  to  me  during  the  day  that  an  academy, 
which  a  number  of  enterprising  people  had  built  two  or 
three  years  before,  had  been  abandoned  and  closed, 
with  the  conclusion  of  the  spring  term,  for  lack  of  sup 
port,  and  that  it  would  be  possible  for  me  to  secure  it 
for  the  field  of  my  future  enterprise.  I  called  at  once 
upon  those  who  held  the  building  in  charge,  and,  before 
I  slept,  closed  a  bargain,  very  advantageous  to  myself, 
which  placed  it  at  my  disposal  for  a  term  of  three  years. 
The  next  day  I  visited  my  friend  the  editor,  whom  I 
found  with  bare  arms,  well  smeared  with  ink,  at  work 
at  his  printer's  case,  setting  up  the  lucubrations  of 
the  previous  night.  He  was  evidently  flattered  by  my 
call,  and  expressed  the  hope  that  what  he  had  written 
with  reference  to  myself  was  satisfactory.  Assuring 
him  that  I  had  no  fault  to  find  with  him,  I  exposed  my 
project,  which  not  only  met  with  his  hearty  approval, 
but  the  promise  of  his  unstinted  support.  From  his 
office  I  went  directly  to  the  chambers  of  the  principal 
lawyer  of  the  city,  and  entered  my  name  as  a  student  of 
law.  I  took  no  advice,  I  sought  no  aid,  but  spoke  freely 
of  my  plans  to  all  around  me.  I  realized  almost  at  once 
how  all  life  and  circumstance  bend  to  the  man  who 
walks  his  own  determined  way,  toward  an  object  defi 


Arthur  Bonnicastle.  369 

nitely  apprehended.  People  were  surprised  by  my 
promptness  and  energy,  and  indeed  I  was  surprised  by 
myself.  My  dreams  of  luxury  and  ease  were  gone,  and 
the  fascinations  of  enterprise  and  action  took  strong 
possession  of  me.  I  was  busy  with  my  preparations  for 
school  and  with  study  all  day,  and  at  night,  every  mo 
ment  stolen  from  sleep  was  filled  with  planning  and  pro 
jecting.  My  father  was  delighted,  and  almost  lived 
and  moved  and  had  his  being  in  me.  To  him  I  told 
everything  ;  and  the  full  measure  of  his  old  faith  in  me 
was  recovered. 

When  the  autumn  term  of  the  academy  opened,  of 
which  I  was  principal,  and  my  sister  Claire  the  leading 
assistant,  every  seat  was  full.  Many  of  the  pupils  had 
come  from  the  towns  around,  though  the  principal  at 
tendance  was  from  the  city,  and  I  entered  at  once  upon 
a  life  of  the  most  fatiguing  labor  and  the  most  grateful 
prosperity.  My  purse  was  filled  at  the  outset  with  the 
advanced  instalment  upon  the  term-bills,  so  that  both 
Claire  and  myself  had  a  delightful  struggle  with  my  fa 
ther  in  our  attempt  to  compel  him  to  receive  payment 
for  our  board  and  lodgings.  Our  little  dwelling  was  full 
of  new  life.  Even  my  mother  was  shaken  from  her 
refuge  of  faithlessness,  and  compelled  to  smile.  Since 
those  days  I  have  had  many  pleasant  experiences ;  but 
I  doubt  whether  I  have  ever  spent  three  years  of  purer 
happiness  than  those  which  I  passed  with  Claire  beneath 
the  roof  of  that  old  academy — old,  now,  for  though  put 
to  strange  uses,  the  building  is  standing  still. 

There  was  one  experience  connected  with  this  part  of 
my  history  of  which  it  is  a  pain  to  speak,  because  it  re 
lates  to  the  most  subtle  and  sacred  passage  of  my  inner 
life  ;  but  having  led  the  reader  thus  far,  I  should  be  dis 
loyal  to  my  Christian  confession  were  I  to  close  my  lips 
upon  it  and  refuse  its  revelation. 

From  the  hour  when  I  first  openly  joined  a  band  of 
24 


370  ArtJiur  Bonnicastle. 

Christian  disciples,  I  had  been  conscious  of  a  mighty 
arm  around  me.  Within  the  circuit  of  that  restraining 
power  I  had  exercised  an  almost  unrestricted  liberty.  I 
had  violated  my  conscience  in  times  and  ways  without 
number,  yet,  when  tempted  to  reckless  wandering,  I 
had  touched  the  obstacle  and  recoiled.  In  whatever 
direction  I  might  go,  I  always  reached  a  point  where  I 
became  conscious  of  its  living  pulsations  and  its  unre- 
laxing  embrace.  Unseen,  impalpable,  it  was  as  im 
penetrable  as  adamant  and  as  strong  as  God.  The  mo 
ment  I  assumed  responsibility  over  other  lives,  and  gave 
my  own  life  in  counsel  and  labor  for  the  good  of  those 
around  me,  the  arm  came  closer,  and  conveyed  to  me 
the  impression  of  comfort  and  health  and  safety.  I 
thanked  God  for  the  restraint  which  that  voluntary  act 
of  mine  had  imposed  upon  me. 

But  this  was  not  all.  My  life  had  come  into  the  line 
of  the  divine  plan  for  my  own  Christian  development.  I 
had  been  a  recipient  all  my  life  ;  now  I  had  become  an 
active  power.  I  had  all  my  life  been  appropriating  the 
food  that  came  to  me,  and  amusing  myself  with  the 
playthings  of  fancy  and  imagination  ;  now  I  had  begun 
to  act  and  expend  in  earnest  work  for  worthy  objects. 
The  spiritual  attitude  effected  by  this  change  was  one 
which  brought  me  face  to  face  with  all  that  was  unwor 
thy  in  me  and  my  past  life,  and  I  felt  myself  under  the 
operations  of  a  mighty  regenerating  power,  which  I  had 
no  disposition  to  resist.  I  could  not  tell  whence  it  came 
or  whither  it  went.  If  it  was  born  of  myself,  it  was  a 
psychological  experience  which  I  could  neither  analyze 
nor  measure.  It  was  upon  me  for  days  and  weeks.  It 
was  within  me  like  leaven  in  the  lump,  permeating,  en 
livening,  lifting  me.  It  was  like  an  eye-stone  in  the  eye, 
searching  for  dust  in  every  place  and  plication,  and  re 
moving  it,  until  the  orb  was  painless  and  the  vision  pure, 
There  was  no  outcry,  no  horror  of  great  darkness,  na 


Arthur  Bonnicastlc.  371 

disposition  to  publish,  but  a  subtle,  silent,  sweet  revolu 
tion.  As  it  went  on  within  me,  I  grew  stronger  day  by 
clay,  and  my  life  and  work  were  flooded  with  the  light 
of  a  great  and  fine  significance.  Sensibility  softened  and 
endurance  hardened  under  it. 

Spirit  of  God  !  Infinite  Mother  !  Thou  didst  not  thun 
der  on  Sinai  amidst  smoke  and  tempest ;  but  in  the 
burning  bush  thou  didst  appear  in  a  flame  that  warmed 
without  withering,  and  illuminated  without  consuming. 
Thou  didst  not  hang  upon  the  cross  on  Calvary,  but  thou 
didst  stir  the  hearts  of  the  bereaved  disciples  as  they 
walked  in  the  way  with  their  risen  Lord.  All  gentle  min 
istries  to  the  spiritual  life  of  men  emanate  from  Thee. 
Thou  brooding,  all-pervading  presence,  holding  a  weep 
ing  world  in  thy  maternal  embrace,  with  counsel  and 
tender  chastening  and  holy  inspirations,  was  it  thy  arms 
that  had  been  around  me  all  these  years,  and  came 
closer  and  closer,  until  I  felt  myself  folded  to  a  heart  that 
flooded  me  with  love  ?  I  only  know  that  streams  rise  no 
higher  than  their  fountain,  and  that  the  fountain  of  spir 
itual  life  in  me  had  sunk  and  ceased  to  flow  long  before 
this  time.  Could  anything  but  a  long,  strong  rain  from 
the  skies  have  filled  it  ?  All  the  things  we  see  are  types 
of  things  we  do  not  see — visible  expressions  of  the  things 
and  thoughts  of  God.  All  the  phenomena  of  nature — 
the  persistent  radiance  of  the  sun  and  moon — the  com 
ing,  going,  and  unloading,  and  the  grace  and  glory  of 
the  clouds— the  changes  of  the  seasons  and  of  the  all- 
enveloping  atmosphere,  are  revelations  to  our  senses 
and  our  souls  of  those  operations  and  influences  which 
act  upon  our  spiritual  natures.  I  find  no  miracle  in  this  ; 
only  nature  speaking  without  material  interpreters— only 
the  God  of  nature  shunning  the  coarser  passages  of  the 
senses,  and  finding  his  way  direct  to  the  Spirit  by  means 
and  ministries  and  channels  of  his  own. 

Was  this  conversion?     It  was  not  an  intellectual  mat 


3/2  Arthur  Bonnicastle. 

ter  at  all.  I  had  changed  no  opinions,  for  the  unworthy 
opinions  I  had  acquired  had  fallen  from  me,  one  by  one, 
as  my  practice  had  conformed  more  and  more  to  the 
Christian  standard.  Indeed,  they  were  not  my  opinions 
at  all,  for  they  had  been  assumed  in  consequence  of  the 
necessity  of  somewhat  bringing  my  spiritual  and  intel 
lectual  natures  into  harmony.  My  deepest  intellectual 
convictions  remained  precisely  what  they  had  always 
been.  No,  it  was  a  spiritual  quickening.  It  had  been 
winter  with  me,  and  1  had  been  covered  with  snow  and 
locked  with  ice.  Did  I  melt  the  bonds  which  held  me, 
by  warmth  self-generated  ?  Does  the  rose  do  this  or 
the  violet  ?  There  was  a  sun  in  some  heaven  I  could 
not  see  that  shone  upon  me.  There  was  a  wind  from 
some  far  latitude  that  breathed  upon  me.  To  be  quick 
ened  is  to  be  touched  by  a  vital  finger.  To  be  quick 
ened  is  to  receive  a  fructifying  flood  from  the  great 
source  of  life. 

The  change  was  something  better  than  had  happened 
to  me  under  Mr.  Bedlow's  preaching,  long  years  before  ; 
but  neither  change  was  conversion.  Far  back  in  child 
hood,  at  my  mother's  knee,  at  my  father's  side,  and  in 
my  own  secret  chamber,  those  changes  were  wrought 
which  had  directed  my  life  toward  a  Christian  consum 
mation.  My  little  rivulet  was  flowing  toward  the  sea, 
increasing  as  it  went,  when  it  was  disturbed  by  the  first 
awful  experiences  of  my  life  ;  and  its  turbid  waters  were 
never,  until  this  latter  time,  wholly  clarified.  My  lit 
tle  plant,  tender  but  upright,  was  just  rising  out  of  its 
nursing  shadows  into  the  light  when  the  great  tempest 
swept  over  it.  If  my  later  experience  was  conversion, 
then  conversion  may  come  to  a  man  every  year  of  his 
life.  It  was  simply  the  revivification  and  reinforcement 
of  the  powers  and  processes  of  spiritual  life.  It  was 
ministry,  direct  and  immediate,  to  development  and 
growth  ;  and  with  me  it  was  complete  restoration  to  the 


Arthur  Bonnicastle.  373 

track  of  my  Christian  boyhood,  and  a  thrusting  out  of 
my  life  of  all  the  ideas,  policies  and  results  of  that  terri 
ble  winter  which  I  can  never  recall  without  self-pity  and 
humiliation. 

The  difference  in  the  respective  effects  of  the  two 
great  crises  of  my  spiritual  history  upon  my  power  to 
work  illustrated  better  than  anything  else,  perhaps,  the 
difference  in  their  nature.  The  first  was  a  dissipation 
of  power.  I  could  not  work  while  it  lasted,  and  it  was  a 
long  time  before  I  could  gather  and  hold  in  hand  my 
mental  forces.  The  second  was  an  accession  of  strength 
and  the  power  of  concentration.  I  am  sure  that  I  never 
worked  harder  or  better  than  I  did  during  the  time  that 
my  late  change  was  in  progress.  It  was  an  uplifting, 
enlightening  and  strengthening  inspiration.  One  was  a 
poison,  the  other  was  a  cure ;  one  disturbed,  the  other 
harmonized  ;  one  was  surcharged  with  fear,  the  other 
brimmed  with  hope  ;  one  exhausted,  the  other  nourished 
and  edified  me  ;  one  left  my  spirit  halting  and  ready  to 
stumble,  the  other  left  it  armed  and  plumed. 

After  my  days  at  the  academy,  came  my  evening 
readings  of  the  elementary  books  of  the  profession 
which  I  had  chosen.  There  were  no  holidays  for  me  ; 
and  during  those  three  years  I  am  sure  I  accomplished 
more  professional  study  than  nine-tenths  of  the  young 
men  whose  every  day  was  at  their  disposal.  I  was  in 
high  health  and  in  thorough  earnest.  My  physical  pow 
ers  had  never  been  overtasked,  and  I  found  myself  in  the 
possession  of  vital  resources  -which  enabled  me  to  ac 
complish  an  enormous  amount  of  labor.  I  have  no 
doubt  that  there  were  those  around  me  who  felt  a  meas 
ure  of  pity  for  me,  but  I  had  no  occasion  to  thank  them 
for  it.  I  had  never  before  felt  so  happy,  and  I  learned 
then,  what  the  world  is  slow  to  learn,  that  there  can  be 
no  true  happiness  that  is  not  the  result  of  the  action  of 
harmonious  powers  steadily  bent  upon  pursuits  that  seek 


374  Arthur  Bonnicastlc. 

a  worthy  end.  Comfort  of  a  certain  sort  there  may  be, 
pleasure  of  a  certain  quality  there  may  be,  in  ease  and 
in  the  gratification  of  that  which  is  sensuous  and  sensual 
in  human  nature  ;  but  happiness  is  never  a  lazy  man's 
dower  nor  a  sensualist's  privilege.  That  is  reserved  for 
the  worker,  and  can  never  be  grasped  and  held  save  by 
true  manhood  and  womanhood.  It  was  a  great  lesson 
to  learn,  and  it  was  learned  for  a  lifetime  ;  for,  in  this 
eventide  of  life,  with  the  power  to  the  rest,  I  find  no  joy 
like  that  which  comes  to  me  at  the  table  on  which,  day 
after  day,  I  write  the  present  record. 

During  the  autumn  and  winter  which  followed  the  as 
sumption  of  my  new  duties,  I  was  often  at  The  Mansion, 
and  a  witness  of  the  happiness  of  its  inmates.  Mrs. 
Sanderson  was  living  in  a  new  atmosphere.  Every 
thought  and  feeling  seemed  to  be  centred  upon  her 
lately  discovered  treasure.  She  listened  to  his  every 
word,  watched  his  every  motion,  and  seemed  to  feel 
that  all  her  time  was  lost  that  was  not  spent  in  his 
presence.  The  strong,  indomitable,  self-asserting  will 
which  she  had  exercised  during  all  her  life  was  laid  at 
his  feet.  With  her  fortune  she  gave  herself.  She  was 
weary  with  the  long  strain  and  relinquished  it.  She 
trusted  him,  leaned  upon  him,  lived  upon  him.  She 
was  in  the  second  childhood  of  her  life,  and  it  was  bet 
ter  to  her  than  her  womanhood.  He  became  in  her  im 
agination  the  son  whom  long  years  before  she  had  lost. 
His  look  recalled  her  boy,  his  voice  was  the  repetition 
of  the  old  music,  and  she  found  realized  in  him  all  the 
dreams  she  had  indulged  in  concerning  him  who  so  sadly 
dissipated  them  in  his  own  self-ruin. 

The  object  of  all  this  trust  and  tenderness  was  as 
happy  as  she.  It  always  touched  me  deeply  to  witness 
the  gentleness  of  his  manner  toward  her.  He  antici 
pated  all  her  wants,  deferred  to  her  slightest  wish, 
shaped  all  his  life  to  serve  her  own.  The  sens.:  of  kin 


ArtJiur  Bonnicastle.  375 

dred  blood  was  strongly  dominant  within  him,  and  hia 
grandmother  was  held  among  the  most  sacred  treasures 
of  his  heart.  Whether  he  ever  had  the  influence  to  lead 
her  to  higher  sources  of  joy  and  comfort  than  him 
self,  I  never  knew,  but  I  know  that  in  the  old  mansion 
that  for  so  many  years  had  been  the  home  of  revelry  or 
of  isolated  selfishness,  an  altar  was  reared  from  which 
the  incense  of  Christian  hearts  rose  with  the  rising  sun 
of  morning  and  the  rising  stars  of  night. 

Henry  passed  many  days  with  me  at  the  academy. 
In  truth,  my  school  was  his  loitering  place,  though  his 
loitering  was  of  a  very  useful  fashion.  I  found  him  so 
full  of  the  results  of  experience  in  the  calling  in  which  I 
was  engaged  that  I  won  from  him  a  thousand  valuable 
suggestions  ;  and  such  was  his  love  for  the  calling  that 
he  rarely  left  me  without  hearing  a  recitation,  which  he 
had  the  power  to  make  so  vitally  interesting  to  my  pu 
pils  that  he  never  entered  the  study-hall  without  awak 
ening  a  smile  of  welcome  from  the  whole  school.  Some 
times  he  went  with  Claire  to  her  class-rooms  ;  and,  as 
many  of  her  pupils  had  previously  been  his  own,  he 
found  himself  at  home  everywhere.  There  was  no  fool 
ish  pride  in  his  heart  that  protested  against  her  employ 
ment.  He  saw  that  she  was  not  only  useful  but  happy, 
and  knew  that  she  was  learning  quite  as  much  that 
would  be  useful  to  her  as  those  who  engaged  her  efforts. 
Her  office  deepened  and  broadened  her  womanhood  ; 
and  I  could  see  that  Henry  was  every  day  more  pleased 
and  satisfied  with  her.  If  she  was  ill  for  a  day,  he  took 
her  place,  and  watched  for  and  filled  every  opportunity 
to  lighten  her  burdens. 

Mr.  Bradford  was,  perhaps,  my  happiest  friend.  He 
had  had  so  much  responsibility  in  directing  and  chang 
ing  the  currents  of  my  life,  that  it  was  with  unbounded 
satisfaction  that  he  witnessed  my  happiness,  my  industry 
and  my  modest  prosperity.  Many  an  hour  did  he  sit 


376  Artliur  Bonnicastle. 

upon  my  platform  with  me,  with  his  two  hands  resting 
upon  his  cane,  his  fine,  honest  face  all  aglow  with  grati 
fied  interest,  listening  to  the  school  in  its  regular  exer 
cises  ;  and  once  he  came  in  with  Mr.  Bird,  who  had 
travelled  all  the  way  from  Hillsborough  to  see  me.  And 
then  my  school  witnessed  such  a  scene  as  it  had  never 
Avitnesscd  before.  I  rushed  to  my  dear  old  friend,  threwr 
my  arms  around  him  and  kissed  him.  The  silver  had 
begun  to  show  itself  in  his  beard  and  on  hi»  temples,  and 
he  looked  weary.  I  gave  him  a  chair,  and  then  with 
tears  in  my  eyes  I  stood  out  upon  the  platform  before  my 
boys  and  girls,  and  told  them  who  he  was,  and  what  he 
had  been  to  me.  I  pictured  to  them  the  life  of  The  Bird's 
Nest,  and  assured  them  that  if  they  had  found  anything 
to  approve  in  me,  as  a  teacher  and  a  friend,  it  was  planted 
and  shaped  in  that  little  garden  on  the  hill.  I  told  them 
further  that  if  any  of  them  should  ever  come  to  regard 
me  with  the  affection  I  felt  for  him,  I  should  feel  myself 
abundantly  repaid  for  all  the  labor  I  had  bestowed  upon 
fhem — nay,  for  the  labor  of  a  life.  I  was  roused  to  an 
eloquence  and  touched  to  a  tenderness  which  were  at 
least  new  to  them,  and  their  eyes  were  wet.  When  I 
concluded,  poor  Mr.  Bird  sat  with  his  head  in  his  hands, 
unable  to  say  a  word. 

As  we  went  out  from  the  school  that  night,  arm  in  arm, 
he  said  :  "  It  was  a  good  medicine,  Arthur — heroic,  but 
good." 

"It  was,"  I  answered,  "and  I  can  never  thank  you 
and  Mr.  Bradford  enough  for  it." 

First  I  took  him  to  my  home,  and  we  had  a  merry  tea- 
drinking  at  which  my  mother  yielded  up  all  her  prejudices 
against  him.  I  showed  him  my  little  room,  so  like  in  its 
dimensions  and  appointments  to  the  one  I  occupied  at  The 
Bird's  Nest,  and  then  I  took  him  to  The  Mansion  for  a  call 
upon  Henry.  After  this  we  went  to  Mr.  Bradford's,  where 
we  passed  the  evening,  and  where  he  spent  the  night. 


ArtJiur  Bonnicastle.  377 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

IN   WHICH    I     LEARN    SOMETHING   ABOUT    LIVINGSTON, 
MILLIE  BRADFORD  AND  MYSELF. 

SINCE  the  old  days  of  my  boyhood,  when  Millie  Brad 
ford  and  I  had  been  intimate,  confidential  friends,  she 
had  never  received  me  with  the  cordiality  that  she  ex 
hibited  on  that  evening.  I  suppose  she  had  listened  to 
the  account  which  her  father  gave  of  my  meeting  with 
my  old  teacher,  and  of  the  words  which  that  meeting 
had  inspired  me  to  utter.  I  have  no  doubt  that  my  later 
history  had  pleased  her,  and  done  much  to  awaken  her 
old  regard  for  me.  Whatever  the  reasons  may  have 
been,  her  grasp  was  hearty,  her  greeting  cordial,  and 
her  face  was  bright  with  welcome.  I  need  not  say  that 
all  this  thrilled  me  with  pleasure,  for  I  had  inwardly  de 
termined  to  earn  her  respect,  and  to  take  no  steps  for 
greater  intimacy  until  I  had  done  so,  even  if  it  should 
lead  me  to  abandon  all  hope  of  being  more  to  her  than  I 
had  been. 

It  was  easy  that  evening  to  win  her  to  our  old  corner 
in  the  drawing-room.  Mrs.  Bradford  and  Aunt  Flick 
were  ready  listeners  to  the  conversation  in  progress  be 
tween  Mr.  Bradford  and  Mr.  Bird,  and  we  found  our 
selves  at  liberty  to  pursue  our  own  ways,  without  inter 
ruption  or  observation. 

She  questioned  me  with  great  interest  about  my 
school,  and  as  that  was  a  subject  which  aroused  all  my 
enthusiasm,  I  talked  freely,  and  amused  her  with  inci 
dents  of  my  daily  work.  She  could  not  but  have  seen 
that  I  was  the  victim  of  no  vain  regrets  concerning  my 
loss  of  position  and  prospects,  and  that  all  my  energies 
and  all  my  heart  were  in  my  new  life.  I  saw  that  she 


378  Arthur  Bonnicastle. 

was  gratified  ;  and  I  was  surprised  to  find  that  she  was 
profoundly  interested  in  my  success. 

"By  the  way,"  I  said,  after  having  dwelt  too  long 
upon  a  topic  that  concerned  myself  mainly,  "  I  wonder 
what  has  become  of  Livingston  ?  He  was  going  to  Eu 
rope,  but  I  have  not  heard  a  word  from  him  since  I  parted 
with  him  months  ago.  Do  you  know  anything  of  him  ?  " 

"  Haven't  heard  from  him  ?  "  she  said,  with  a  kind  of 
incredulous  gasp. 

"  Not  a  word." 

"  Haven't  you  seen  him  ?  " 

"  Why,  I  haven't  been  out  of  the  town." 

"  No,  but  you  have  seen  him  here  ?  " 

"Not  once." 

"  You  are  sure  ?  " 

"  Perfectly  sure,"  I  responded,  with  a  smile  at  her 
obstinate  unbelief. 

"  I  don't  understand  it,"  she  said,  looking  away  from 
me. 

"  Has  he  been  here  ?  "  I  inquired. 

"Twice." 

I  saw  that  she  was  not  only  puzzled,  but  deeply  moved  ; 
and  I  was  conscious  of  a  flush  of  mingled  anger  and  in 
dignation  sweeping  over  my  own  tell-tale  face. 

"Did  he  call  on  Henry  when  he  was  here?"  I  in 
quired. 

"He  did,  on  both  occasions.  Did  not  Henry  tell 
you  ?  " 

"He  did  not." 

"  That  is  strange,  too,"  she  remarked. 

"  Miss  Bradford,"  I  responded,  "  it  is  not  strange  at 
all.  I  comprehend  the  whole  matter.  Henry  knew  Liv 
ingston  better  than  I  did,  and,  doubting  whether  he 
would  care  to  continue  his  acquaintance  with  me  after 
the  change  in  my  circumstances,  had  not  mentioned  his 
calls  to  me.  He  knew  that  if  1  had  met  him,  1  should 


Arthur  Bonnicastle.  379 

speak  of  it  ,•  and  as  I  did  not  speak  of  it,  he  concluded 
that  I  had  not  met  him,  and  so  covered  from  me  by  his 
silence  the  presence  of  my  old  friend  in  the  city.  Liv 
ingston  did  not  call  upon  me  because,  having  nothing 
further  in  common  with  me,  he  chose  to  ignore  me 
altogether,  and  to  count  all  that  had  appeared  like 
friendship  between  us  for  nothing.  I  was  no  longer  an 
heir  to  wealth.  I  was  a  worker  for  my  own  bread,  with 
my  position  to  make  by  efforts  whose  issue  was  uncertain. 
I  could  be  his  companion  no  further  ;  I  could  be  received 
at  his  father's  home  no  more.  Every  attention  or  cour 
tesy  he  might  render  me  could  be  rendered  no  more  ex 
cept  as  a  matter  of  patronage.  I  can  at  least  give  him 
the  credit  for  having  honesty  and  delicacy  enough  to 
shun  me  when  he  could  meet  me  no  more  on  even 
terms." 

"Even  terms!"  exclaimed  the  girl,  with  a  scorn  in 
her  manner  and  voice  which  verged  closely  upon  rage. 
"  Is  that  a  style  of  manhood  that  one  may  apologize 
for  ?  " 

"  Well,"  I  answered,  "  considering  the  fact  that  I  was 
attracted  to  him  at  first  by  the  very  motives  which  con 
trol,  him  now,  I  ought  to  be  tolerant  and  charitable." 

"  Yes,  if  that  is  true,"  she  responded  ;  "  but  the  mat 
ter  is  incredible  and  incomprehensible." 

"  It  begins  to  seem  so  now,  to  me,"  I  replied,  "  but 
it  did  not  then.  Our  clique  in  college  were  all  fools  to 
gether,  and  fancied  that,  because  we  had  some  worldly 
advantages  not  shared  by  others,  we  were  raised  by 
them  above  the  common  level.  We  took  pride  in  cir 
cumstances  that  were  entirely  independent  of  our  man 
hood — circumstances  that  were  gathered  around  us  by 
other  hands.  I  am  heartily  ashamed  of  my  old  weak 
ness,  and  despise  myself  for  it ;  but  I  can  appreciate  the 
strength  of  the  bonds  that  bind  Livingston,  and  I  forgive 
him  with  all  my  heart." 


380  ArtJiur  Bonnicastle. 

"  I  do  not,"  she  responded.  "  The  slight  he  has  put 
upon  you,  and  his  new  friendship  for  Henry,  disgust  me 
more  than  I  can  tell  you.  His  conduct  is  mercenary 
and  unmanly,  and  offends  me  from  the  crown  of  my 
head  to  the  sole  of  my  foot." 

In  the  firm,  strong  passion  of  this  true  girl  I  saw  mj 
old  self,  and  realized  the  wretched  slough  from  which  1 
had  been  lifted.  I  could  not  feel  as  she  did,  however, 
toward  Livingston.  After  the  first  flush  of  anger  had 
subsided,  I  saw  that,  without  some  radical  change  in 
him,  he  could  not  do  otherwise  than  he  had  done. 
Though  manly  in  many  of  his  characteristics,  his  scheme 
of  life  was  rotten  at  its  foundation,  in  that  it  ignored 
manliness.  His  standard  of  respectability  was  not  nat 
ural,  it  was  conventional ;  and  so  long  as  he  entertained 
no  plan  of  life  that  was  based  in  manliness  and  manly 
work,  his  associations  would  be  controlled  by  the  con 
ventional  standard  to  which  he  and  those  around  him 
bowed  in  constant  loyalty. 

After  her  frank  expression  of  indignation,  she  seemed 
inclined  to  drop  the  subject,  and  only  a  few  more  words 
were  uttered  upon  either  side  concerning  it.  I  saw  that 
she  was  troubled,  that  she  was  angry,  and  that,  during 
the  moments  devoted  to  the  conversation,  she  had  ar 
rived  at  some  determination  whose  nature  and  moment 
I  could  not  guess.  Sometimes  she  looked  at  me  :  some 
times  she  looked  away  from  me  ;  and  then  her  lips  were 
pressed  together  with  a  strange  spasm  of  firmness,  as  if 
some  new  resolution  of  her  life  were  passing  step  by- 
step  to  its  final  issue. 

I  did  guess  afterward,  and  guessed  aright.  Livingston 
had  fascinated  her,  while  she  had  so  wholly  gained  his 
affection  and  respect,  and  so  won  his  admiration,  that 
he  was  laying  siege  to  her  heart  by  all  the  arts  and  ap. 
pliances  of  which  he  was  so  accustomed  and  accom 
plished  a  master.  He  was  the  first  man  who  had  ever 


Arthur  Bonnicastle.  381 

approached  her  as  a  lover.  She  had  but  just  escaped 
from  the  seclusion  of  her  school-life,  and  this  world  of 
love,  of  which  she  had  only  dreamed,  had  been  opened 
to  her  by  the  hands  of  a  prince.  He  was  handsome,  ac 
complished  in  the  arts  of  society,  vivacious  and  brilliant ; 
and  while  he  had  made  comparatively  little  progress  in 
winning  her  heart,  he  had  carried  her  fancy  captive  and 
excited  her  admiration,  and  only  needed  more  abundant 
opportunity  to  win  her  wholly  to  himself. 

The  revelation  of  the  real  character  of  the  man,  and 
of  his  graceless  dealing  with  me — the  hollow-heartedness 
of  his  friendship,  and  the  transfer  of  his  regard  and  cour 
tesy  from  me  to  Henry— offended  all  that  was  womanly 
within  her.  From  the  moment  when  she  comprehended 
his  position — its  meanness,  its  injustice  and  unmanliness 
— she  determined  that  he  should  be  forever  shut  out  of 
her  heart.  She  knew  that  her  judgment  and  conscience 
could  never  approve  either  his  conduct  or  him — that  this 
one  act  could  never  be  justified  or  apologized  for.  The 
determination  cost  her  a  struggle  which  called  into  ac 
tion  all  the  forces  of  her  nature.  I  have  been  a  thou 
sand  times  thankful  that  I  did  not  know  what  was  pass 
ing  in  her  mind,  for  I  was  thus  saved  from  all  temptation 
to  attempt  to  turn  her  heart  against  him,  and  turn  it 
toward  myself. 

She  wrote  him  a  letter,  as  I  subsequently  learned,  which 
was  intended  to  save  him  the  mortification  of  visiting  her 
again  ;  but  he  came  again,  armed  with  his  old  self-pos 
session,  determined  to  win  the  prize  upon  which  he  had 
set  his  heart  ;  and  then  he  went  away,  visiting  neithei 
Henry  nor  myself.  Afterward  he  went  to  Europe,  ani 
severed  forever  all  his  relations  to  the  lives  of  his  Brad 
ford  acquaintances. 

When  Millie  and  I  closed  our  conversation  about  Liv 
ingston,  I  found  her  prepossessed  and  silent ;  and,  as  if 
by  mutual  impulse  and  consent,  we  rose  from  om  seats, 


382  Arthur  Bonnicastlc. 

and  returned  to  the  other  end  of  the  drawing-room, 
where  the  remainder  of  the  family  were  gathered.  There 
we  found  a  conversation  in  progress  which  I  had  no 
doubt  had  been  suggested  by  my  own  personality  and 
position  ;  and  as  it  was  very  fruitfully  suggestive  to  me, 
and  became  a  source  of  great  encouragement  to  me,  I 
am  sure  my  readers  will  be  interested  in  it.  We  came 
within  hearing  of  the  conversation,  just  as  Mr.  Bird  was 
saying  : 

"  I  never  saw  a  man  with  anything  of  the  real  Shake 
speare  in  him — using  him  as  our  typical  man — who 
could  not  be  any  sort  of  a  man  that  he  chose  to  be.  A 
genuinely  practical  man — a  man  who  can  adapt  himself 
to  any  sort  of  life — is  invariably  a  man  of  imagination. 
These  young  men  who  have  the  name  of  being  eminently 
practical — especially  among  women,  who  usually  con 
sider  all  practical  gifts  to  be  those  which  relate  to  mak 
ing  money  and  providing  for  a  family — are  the  least  prac 
tical,  in  a  wide  sense,  of  anybody.  They  usually  have 
a  strong  bent  toward  a  certain  industrial  or  commercial 
pursuit,  and  if  they  follow  that  bent,  persistently,  they 
succeed  ;  but  if  by  any  chance  they  are  diverted  from  it, 
they  fail  irrevocably.  Now  the  man  of  imagination  is  he 
who  apprehends  and  comprehends  the  circumstances, 
proprieties  and  opportunities  of  every  life  in  which  his 
lot  may  be  cast,  and  adapts  himself  to  and  employs 
them  all.  I  have  a  fine  chance  to  notice  this  in  my  boys  ; 
and  whenever  I  find  one  who  has  an  imagination,  1  see 
ten  chances  to  make  a  man  of  him  where  one  exists  in 
those  less  generously  furnished." 

"  Yet  our  geniuses,"  responded  Mr.  Bradford,  "  have 
not  been  noted  for  their  skill  in  practical  affairs,  or  for 
their  power  to  take  care  of  themselves." 

"  No,"  said  Mr.  Bird,  "  because  our  geniuses,  or  what 
by  courtesy  we  call  such,  arc  one-sided  men,  who  have  a 
single  faculty  developed  in  exceptionally  large  propor- 


Artlinr  Bnnnicastle.  383 

tion.  They  are  practical  men  only  in  a  single  direction, 
like  the  man  who  has  a  special  gift  for  money-making, 
or  affairs  ;  and  the  latter  is  just  as  truly  a  genius  as  the 
former,  and  both  are  necessarily  narrow  men,  and  limited 
in  their  range  of  effort.  This  is  not  at  all  the  kind  of 
man  I  mean  ;  I  allude  to  one  who  has  fairly  symmetrical 
powers,  with  the  faculty  of  imagination  among  them. 
Without  this  latter,  a  man  can  never  rise  above  the  capa- 
city  of  a  kind  of  human  machine,  working  regularly  01 
irregularly.  A  man  who  cannot  see  the  poetical  side  of 
his  work,  can  never  achieve  the  highest  excellence  in  it. 
The  ideal  must  always  be  apprehended  before  one  can 
rise  to  that  which  is  in  the  highest  possible  sense  prac 
tical.  I  have  known  boys  who  were  the  despair  of  their 
humdrum  fathers  and  mothers,  because,  forsooth,  they 
had  the  faculty  of  writing  verses  in  their  youth.  They 
were  regarded  by  these  parents  with  a  kind  of  blind 
pride,  but  with  no  expectation  for  them  except  poverty, 
unsteady  purposes  and  dependence.  I  have  seen  these 
same  parents,  many  times,  depending  in  their  old  age 
upon  their  verse-writing  boys  for  comfort  or  luxury, 
while  their  practical  brothers  were  tugging  for  their  daily 
bread,  unable  to  help  anybody  but  themselves  and  their 
families." 

Mr.  Bradford  saw  that  I  was  intensely  interested  in 
this  talk  of  Mr.  Bird,  and  said,  with  the  hope  of  turn 
ing  it  more  thoroughly  to  my  own  practical  advantage  : 
"  Well,  what  have  you  to  say  to  our  young  man  here? 
He  was  so  full  of  imagination  when  a  lad  that  we  could 
hardly  trust  his  eyes  or  his  conscience." 

He  said  this  with  a  laugh,  but  Mr.  Bird  turned  toward 
me  with  his  old  affectionate  look,  and  replied, :  "I  have 
never  seen  the  day  since  I  first  had  him  at  my  side,  when 
I  did  not  believe  that  he  had  the  making  of  a  hundred 
different  men  in  him.  He  was  always  a  good  student 
when  he  chose  to  be.  He  would  have  made,  after  a 


384  Arthur  Bonnicastle. 

time,  an  ideal  man  of  leisure.  He  is  a  good  teacher  to- 
day.  He  has  chosen  to  be  a  lawyer,  and  it  rests  entirely 
with  him  to  determine  whether  he  will  be  an  eminent 
one.  If  he  had  chosen  to  be  a  preacher,  or  an  author, 
or  a  merchant,  he  would  meet  no  insurmountable  diffi 
culty  in  rising  above  mediocrity,  in  either  profession. 
The  faculty  of  imagination,  added  to  symmetrical  intel 
lectual  powers,  makes  it  possible  for  him  to  be  anything 
that  he  chooses  to  become.  By  this  faculty  he  will  be 
able  to  see  all  the  possibilities  of  any  profession,  and  all 
the  possibilities  of  his  powers  with  relation  to  it." 

"As  frankness  of  speech  seems  to  be  in  order,"  said 
Mr.  Bradford,  "  suppose  you  tell  us  whether  you  do  not 
think  that  he  spends  money  rather  too  easily,  and  that 
he  may  find  future  trouble  in  that  direction." 

Mr.  Bird  at  once  became  my  partisan.  "  What  op 
portunity  has  the  boy  had  for  learning  the  value  of 
money  ?  When  he  has  learned  what  a  dollar  costs,  by 
the  actual  experiment  of  labor,  he  will  be  corrected. 
Thus  far  he  has  known  the  value  of  a  dollar  only  from 
one  side  of  it.  He  knows  what  it  will  buy,  but  he  does 
not  know  what  it  costs.  Some  of  the  best  financiers  I 
ever  met  were  once  boys  who  placed  little  or  no  value 
upon  money.  No  man  can  measure  the  value  of  a  dol 
lar  justly  who  cannot  place  by  its  side  the  expenditure 
of  time  and  labor  which  it  costs.  Arthur  is  learning  all 
about  it." 

"  Thank  you,"  I  responded,  "  I  feel  quite  encouraged 
about  myself." 

"Now,  then,  what  do  you  think  of  Henry,  in  his  new 
circumstances  ?  "  inquired  Mr.  Bradford. 

"  Henry,"  replied  Mr.  Bird,  "  never  had  the  faculty 
to  learn  the  value  of  a  dollar,  except  through  the  diffi 
culty  of  getting  it.  The  real  superiority  of  Arthur  over 
Henry  in  this  matter  is  in  his  faculty,  not  only  to  meas 
ure  the  value  of  a  dollar  by  its  cost,  but  to  measure  it  by 


Arthur  Bonnie astle.  385 

its  power.  To  know  how  to  win  money  and  at  the  same 
time  to  know  how  to  use  it  when  won,  is  the  prerogative 
of  the  highest  style  of  practical  financial  wisdom.  Now 
that  money  costs  Henry  nothing,  he  will  cease  to  value 
it ;  and  with  his  tastes  I  think  the  care  of  his  fortune 
will  be  very  irksome  to  him.  Indeed,  it  would  not  be 
strange  if,  in  five  years,  that  care  should  be  transferred 
to  the  very  hands  that  surrendered  the  fortune  to  him. 
So  our  practical  boy  is  quite  likely,  in  my  judgment,  to 
become  a  mere  baby  in  business,  while  our  boy  whose 
imagination  seemed  likely  to  run  away  with  him,  will 
nurse  him  and  his  fortune  together." 

"  Why,  that  will  be  delightful,"  I  responded.  "  I 
shall  be  certain  to  send  the  first  business-card  I  get 
printed  to  Henry,  and  solicit  his  patronage." 

There  was  much  more  said  at  the  time  about  Henry's 
future  as  well  as  my  own,  but  the  conversation  I  have 
rehearsed  was  all  that  was  of  vital  importance  to  me, 
and  I  will  not  burden  the  reader  with  more.  I  cannot 
convey  to  any  one  an  idea  of  the  interest  which  I  took 
in  this  talk  of  my  old  teacher.  It  somehow  had  the 
power  to  place  me  in  possession  of  myself.  It  recog 
nized,  in  the  presence  of  those  who  loved  but  did  not 
wholly  trust  me,  powers  and  qualities  which,  in  a  half- 
blind  way,  I  saw  within  myself.  It  strengthened  my 
self-respect  and  my  faith  in  my  future. 

Ah  !  if  the  old  and  the  wise  could  know  how  the  wis 
dom  won  by  their  experience  is  taken  into  the  heart  of 
every  earnest  y.oung  man,  and  how  grateful  to  such  a 
young  man  recognition  is,  at  the  hand  of  the  old  and  the 
wise,  would  they  be  stingy  with  their  hoard  and  reluc 
tant  with  their  hand  ?  I  do  not  believe  they  would. 
They  forget  their  youth,  when  they  drop  peas  instead  of 
pearls,  and  are  silly  rather  than  sage. 

When  I  left  the  house  to  return  to  my  home,  I  was 
charged  with  thoughts  which  kept  me  awake  far  into  the 


386  Ariiiur  Bo;inicastle. 

night.  The  only  man  from  whom  I  had  anything  to  feai 
as  a  rival  was  in  disgrace.  My  power  to  win  a  practical 
man's  place  in  the  world  had  been  recognized  in  Millie 
Bradford's  presence,  by  one  whose  opinion  was  very 
highly  prized.  I  had  achieved  the  power  of  looking  at 
myself  and  my  possibilities  through  the  eyes  of  a  wis 
dom-winning  experience.  I  was  inspired,  encouraged 
and  strengthened,  and  my  life  had  never  seemed  more 
full  of  meaning  and  interest  than  it  did  then. 

Early  the  next  morning  I  went  for  Mr.  Bird,  accom 
panied  him  to  the  stage-office,  and  bade  him  good-by, 
grateful  for  such  a  friend,  and  determined  to  realize  all 
that  he  had  wished  and  hoped  for  me. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

I  WIN  A  WIFE  AND  HOME  OF   MY  OWN,  AND  THE  MAN 
SION  LOSES  AND    GAINS  A  MISTRESS. 

IN  those  early  days,  professional  study  was  carried  on 
very  generally  without  the  aid  of  professional  schools  ; 
and  during  my  three  years  at  the  academy,  accom 
plished  with  sufficient  pecuniary  success,  I  read  all  the 
elementary  books  of  the  profession  I  had  chosen,  and, 
at  the  close,  was  admitted  to  the  bar,  after  an  examina 
tion  which  placed  me  at  once  at  the  head  of  the  little 
clique  of  young  men  who  had  fitted  themselves  for  the 
same  pursuit.  Henry,  meantime,  had  realized  a  wish, 
long  secretly  cherished,  to  study  divinity,  and,  under  a 
license  from  the  ministerial  association  of  the  county, 
had  preached  many  times  in  the  vacant  pulpits  of  the 
city  and  the  surrounding  country.  Mrs.  Sanderson  al 
ways  went  to  hear  him  when  the  distance  did  not  forbid 


Arthur  Bonnicastlc.  38? 

her ;  and  I  suppose  that  the  city  did  not  hold  two  young 
men  of  more  unwearied  industry  than  ourselves. 

My  acquaintance  with  Millie  Bradford"  ripened  into 
confidential  friendship,  and,  so  far  as  I  was  concerned, 
into  something  warmer  and  deeper,  yet  nothing  of  love 
was  ever  alluded  to  between  us.  I  saw  that  she  did  not 
encourage  the  advances  of  other  young  men  which  were 
made  upon  every  side,  and  I  was  quite  content  to  let 
matters  rest  as  they  were,  until  my  prospects  for  life 
were  more  definite  and  reliable  than  they  were  then. 
We  read  the  same  books,  and  talked  about  them.  We 
engaged  in  the  same  efforts  to  arouse  the  spirit  of  liter 
ary  culture  and  improvement  in  the  neighborhood.  In 
the  meantime  her  womanhood  ripened  day  by  day,  and 
year  by  year,  until  she  became  the  one  bright  star  of 
my  life.  I  learned  to  look  at  my  own  character  and  all 
my  actions  through  her  womanly  eyes.  I  added  her 
conscience  to  my  own.  I  added  her  sense  of  that  which 
was  proper  and  becoming  and  tasteful  to  my  own. 
Through  her  sensibilities  I  learned  to  see  things  finely, 
and  by  persuasions  which  never  shaped  themselves  to 
words,  I  yielded  myself  to  her,  to  be  led  to  fine  consum 
mations  of  life  and  character.  She  was  a  being  ineffably 
sacred  to  me.  She  was  never  associated  in  my  mind 
with  a  coarse  thought.  She  lifted  me  into  a  realm  en 
tirely  above  the  atmosphere  of  sensuality,  from  which  I 
never  descended  for  a  moment ;  and  I  thank  God  that  I 
have  never  lost  that  respect  for  woman  which  she  taught 
me. 

I  have  seen,  since  those  days,  so  charged  with  pure  and 
precious  memories,  many  women  of  unworthy  aims,  and 
low  and  frivolous  tastes,  yet  I  have  never  seen  anything 
that  bore  the  form  of  woman  that  did  not  appeal  to  my  ten 
der  consideration.  I  have  never  seen  a  woman  so  low 
that  her  cry  of  distress  or  appeal  for  protection  did  not  stir 
me  like  a  trumpet,  or  so  base  that  I  did  not  wish  to  cover 


388  Arthur  Bonnicastle. 

her  shame  from  ribald  eyes,  and  restore  her  to  that  bet 
ter  self  which,  by  the  grace  of  her  nature,  can  never  bi 
wholly  destroyed. 

Soon  after  the  term  had  closed  which  severed  the  con 
nection  of  Claire  and  myself  with  the  academy,  I  was 
made  half  wild  with  delight  by  an  invitation,  extended 
to  Henry  and  Claire,  as  well  as  to  Millie  and  myself,  to 
visit  Hillsborough,  and  join  the  Bird's  Nest  in  their  bien 
nial  encampment.  I  knew  every  rod  of  ground  around 
the  beautiful  mountain-lake  upon  whose  shores  the  white 
tents  of  the  school  were  to  be  planted,  for,  though  six 
miles  away  from  my  early  school,  I  had  visited  it  many 
times  during  holidays,  and  had  sailed  and  angled  and 
swam  upon  its  waters.  For  many  years  it  had  been  Mr. 
Bird's  habit,  at  stated  intervals,  to  take  his  whole  school 
to  this  lovely  spot  during  the  fervors  of  the  brief  New 
England  summer  and  to  yield  a  fortnight  to  play.  The 
boys  looked  forward  to  this  event,  through  the  long 
months  of  their  study,  with  the  most  charming  anticipa 
tions,  and  none  of  them  could  have  been  more  delighted 
with  the  prospect  than  Henry  and  myself.  We  were  now 
the  old  boys  going  back,  to  be  looked  at  and  talked 
about  by  the  younger  boys.  We  were  to  renew  our  boy 
hood  and  our  old  associations  before  undertaking  the 
professional  work  of  our  lives. 

As  both  Mr.  Bradford  and  my  father  trusted  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Bird,  it  was  not  difficult  to  obtain  their  consent  that 
Millie  and  Claire  should  accompany  us  ;  and  when  the 
morning  of  our  departure  arrived,  we  were  delighted  to 
find  that  we  should  be  the  only  occupants  of  the  old 
stage-coach  which  was  to  bear  us  to  our  destination. 
The  day  was  as  beautiful  as  that  on  which  my  father  and 
I  first  made  the  journey  over  the  same  route.  The  ob 
jects  along  the  way  were  all  familiar  to  Henry  and  my 
self,  but  it  seemed  as  if  we  had  lived  a  whole  lifetime 
since  we  had  seen  them.  We  gave  ourselves  up  to  mer- 


Arthur  Bonnicastle,  389 

riment.  The  spirit  of  play  was  upon  us  all ;  and  the  old 
impassive  stage-driver  must  have  thought  us  half  insane. 
The  drive  was  long,  but  it  might  have  been  twice  as  long 
without  wearying  us. 

I  was  going  back  to  the  fountain  from  which  I  had 
drunk  so  much  that  had  come  as  a  pure  force  into  my 
life.  Even  the  privilege  to  play,  without  a  thought  of 
work,  or  a  shadow  of  care  and  duty,  I  had  learned  from 
the  teachings  of  Mr.  Bird.  I  had  been  taught  by  him  to 
believe—what  many  others  had  endeavored  to  make 
me  doubt — that  God  looked  with  delight  upon  his  weary 
children  at  play — that  the  careless  lambs  that  gambolled 
in  their  pasture,  and  the  careless  birds  singing  and  flying 
in  the  air,  were  not  more  innocent  in  their  sports  than 
men,  women  and  children,  when,  after  work  faithfully 
done,  they  yielded  to  the  recreative  impulse,  and  with 
perfect  freedom  gave  themselves  to  play.  I  believed  this 
then,  and  I  believe  it  still  ;  and  I  account  that  religion 
poor  and  pitiful  which  ascribes  to  the  Good  Father  of  us 
all  less  delight  in  the  free  and  careless  sports  of  his  chil 
dren  than  we  take  in  the  frolic  of  our  own. 

The  whole  school  was  out  to  see  the  new-comers  when 
we  arrived,  and  we  were  received  literally  with  open 
arms  by  the  master  and  mistress  of  the  establishment. 
Already  the  tents  and  cooking  utensils  had  gone  forward. 
A  few  of  the  older  boys  were  just  starting  on  foot  for  the 
scene  of  the  fortnight's  play,  to  sleep  in  neighboring 
barns,  so  as  to  be  on  the  ground  early  to  assist  in  raising 
the  tents.  They  could  have  slept  in  beds,  but  beds  were 
at  a  discount  among  lads  whose  present  ambition  was  to 
sleep  upon  the  ground.  The  whole  building  was  noisy 
with  the  notes  of  preparation.  Food  was  preparing  in  in  • 
credible  quantities,  and  special  preparations  were  in 
progress  for  making  Millie  and  Claire  comfortable  ;  for  it 
was  supposed  that  "  roughing  it"  was  something  foreign 
to  their  taste  and  experience. 


39°  Arthur  Bonnicastle. 

On  the  following  morning,  I  was  roused  from  m) 
dreams  by  the  same  outcry  of  the  boys  to  which  1  had 
responded,  or  in  which  I  had  joined,  for  a  period  of  five 
happy  years.  I  was  obliged  to  rub  my  eyes  before  I 
could  realize  that  more  than  seven  years  lay  between  me 
and  that  golden  period.  When  at  last  I  remembered 
how,  under  that  roof,  breathed  the  woman  dearer  to  me 
than  all  the  rest  of  the  world,  and  that  for  two  precious 
weeks  she  would  be  my  companion,  amid  the  most  en 
chanting  scenes  of  nature,  and  under  circumstances  so 
fresh  and  strange  as  to  touch  all  her  sensibilities,  I  felt 
almost  guilty  that  I  could  not  bring  to  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Bird  an  undivided  heart,  and  that  The  Bird's  Nest,  and 
the  lake,  and  the  camp-fires,  and  the  free  life  of  the 
wilderness  would  be  comparatively  meaningless  to  me 
without  her. 

Our  breakfast  was  a  hurried  one.  The  boys  could 
hardly  wait  to  eat  anything,  and  started  off  by  pairs  and 
squads  to  make  the  distance  on  foot.  A  huge  lumber- 
wagon,  loaded  with  supplies,  was  the  first  carriage  des 
patched.  Then  those  who  would  need  to  ride  took  their 
seats  in  such  vehicles  as  the  school  and  village  afforded, 
and  the  straggling  procession  moved  on  its  way.  Henry 
and  I  spurned  the  thought  of  being  carried,  and  took 
our  way  on  foot.  We  had  not  gone  half  the  distance, 
however,  when  Millie  and  Claire  insisted  enjoining  us. 
So  our  little  party  bade  the  rest  good-by,  and  we  were 
left  to  take  our  own  time  for  the  journey. 

We  were  the  last  to  arrive  at  the  encampment,  and 
the  sun  was  already  hot  in  the  sky.  Poor  Claire  was 
quite  exhausted,  but  Millie  grew  stronger  with  every 
step.  The  flush  of  health  and  happiness  upon  her  face 
drew  forth  a  compliment  from  Mr.  Bird  which  deepened 
her  colftr,  and  made  her  more  charming  than  ever.  The 
life  was  as  new  to  her  as  if  she  had  exchanged  planets ; 
and  she  gave  herself  up  to  it,  and  all  the  pleasant  labor 


ArtJiur  Bonnicastle.  391 

which  the  provision  for  so  many  rendered  necessary, 
with  a  ready  and  hearty  helpfulness  that  delighted  every 
one.  She  could  not  move  without  attracting  a  crowd  of 
boys.  She  walked  and  talked  with  them  ;  she  sang  to 
them  and  read  to  them  ;  and  during  the  first  two  or  three 
days  of  camp-life,  I  began  to  fear  that  I  should  have  very 
little  of  her  society. 

The  days  were  not  long  enough  for  our  pleasures. 
Bathing,  boating,  ball-playing  and  eating  through  the 
day,  and  singing  and  story-telling  during  the  evening, 
constituted  the  round  of  waking  delights,  and  the  nights, 
cool  and  sweet,  were  long  with  refreshing  and  dream 
less  slumber. 

There  is  no  kinder  mother  than  the  earth,  when  we 
trustfully  lay  our  heads  upon  her  bosom.  She  holds 
balm  and  blessing  for  the  rich  and  the  poor,  for  the 
hardy  and  the  dainty  alike,  which  the  bed  of  luxury 
never  knows.  Pure  air  to  breathe,  pure  water  to  drink 
and  a  pillow  of  stone — ah !  how  easy  it  is  for  the  invisi 
ble  ministers  of  health  and  happiness  to  build  ladders 
between  such  conditions  and  heaven  ! 

Far  back  over  the  dim  years  that  have  come  between, 
I  see  those  camp-fires  glowing  still,  through  evenings 
full  of  music  and  laughter.  I  see  the  groups  of  merry 
boys  dancing  around  them.  I  hear  their  calls  for  Echo 
to  the  woods,  and  then,  in  the  pauses,  the  plash  of  oars, 
as  some  group  of  late  sailors  comes  slowly  in,  stirring 
the  lake  into  ripples  that  seem  phosphorescent  in  the 
firelight.  I  watch  those  fires  crumbling  away,  and 
dying  at  last  into  cloudy  darkness,  or  mtp  the  milder 
moonlight  which  then  asserts  its  undivided  sway,  and 
floods  lake  and  forest  and  mountain,  and  all  the  night- 
sweet  atmosphere  with  its  steady  radiance.  I  see  the 
tent  in  which  my  sister  and  my  love  are  sleeping,  and 
invoke  for  them  the  guardian  care  of  God  and  all  good 
angels.  I  go  at  last  to  my  own  tent,  and  lie  down  to  a 


392  ArtJiur  Bonnicastle. 

sleep  of  blessed,  blank  unconsciousness,  from  which  1 
am  roused  by  the  cry  of  healthy  lungs  that  find  no  wea« 
riness  in  play,  and  by  the  tramping  of  feet  around  me 
that  spring  to  the  tasks  and  sports  of  the  day  with  un 
flagging  appetite  and  interest. 

Did  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Bird  know  how  much  pleasure  they 
were  giving  to  the  young  life  around  them  ?  Did  they 
know  that  they  were  enabling  us  all  to  lay  up  memories 
more  precious  than  gold  ?  Did  they  know  they  were  de 
veloping  a  love  of  nature  and  of  healthful  and  simple 
pleasures  that  should  be  a  constant  guard  around  those 
young  feet,  when"  they  should  find  themselves  among 
the  slippery  places  of  life  and  the  seductive  influences 
of  artificial  society  !  Did  they  know  that  making  the  ac 
quaintance  of  the  birds  and  flowers  and  open  sky  and 
expanding  water  and  rough  life  was  better  than  the  cul 
ture  and  restraint  of  drawing-rooms  ?  Did  they  know 
that  these  boys,  deprived  of  this  knowledge  and  these 
influences,  would  go  through  life  lacking  something  in 
expressibly  valuable  ?  Surely  they  did,  or  they  would 
not  have  sacrificed  labor  and  care  and  comfort  to  achieve 
these  objects  and  results.  A  thousand  blessings  on  you, 
my  wise,  patient,  self-sacrificing  friends !  It  is  no  won 
der  that  all  who  have  lived  under  your  ceaseless  anc] 
self-devoted  ministry  love  you  ! 

The  moon  was  new  when  we  went  into  camp,  and  as 
it  grew  larger  the  weather  grew  finer,  until,  as  the  fort 
night  waned,  it  came  to  its  glorious  full,  on  a  night  whose 
events  made  it  forever  memorable  to  me. 

I  do  not  know  why  it  is  that  a  boy,  or  a  collection  of 
boys,  is  so  keen  in  the  discovery  of  tender  relations  be 
tween  young  men  and  young  women,  but  I  think  that, 
from  the  first,  the  school  understood  exactly  the  rela 
tions  of  Henry  to  Claire  and  of  Millie  to  myself  There 
was  a  lively  family  interest  in  us  all,  and  the  young 
rogues  seemed  to  understand  that  matters  were  all  set' 


Arthur  Bonnicastlc.  393 

tied  between  the  former  pair,  and  that  they  had  not 
reached  a  permanent  adjustment  between  the  latter. 
Henry  and  Claire  could  always  be  with  each  other  with 
out  interruption.  They  could  go  down  to  the  shore  at 
any  time  of  the  day  or  evening,  enter  a  boat,  and  row 
out  upon  the  lake,  and  find  nothing  to  interfere  with 
their  privacy  ;  but  Millie  and  I  could  never  approach  a 
boat  without  finding  half  a  dozen  little  fellows  at  our 
side,  begging  to  be  taken  out  with  us  upon  the  water. 
There  was  always  mischief  in  their  eyes,  and  an  evident 
wish  to  make  the  course  of  true  love  rough  to  us.  There 
was  something  so  amusing  in  all  this,  to  me,  that  I  never 
could  get  angry  with  them,  but  Millie  was  sometimes 
disturbed  by  their  good-natured  persecutions. 

On  one  of  the  later  evenings,  however,  Millie  and  I 
took  advantage  of  their  momentary  absorption  in  some 
favorite  game,  and  quietly  walked  to  the  shore,  un 
noticed  by  any  of  them.  She  took  her  seat  in  the 
boat,  and,  shoving  it  from  the  sand,  I  sprang  in  after 
her,  and  we  were  afloat  and  free  upon  the  moonlit 
water.  For  some  minutes  I  did  not  touch  the  oars,  but 
let  the  boat  drift  out  with  the  impulse  I  had  given 
it,  while  we  watched  the  outlines  of  the  white  tents 
against  the  sky,  and  the  groups  which  the  camp-fires 
made  fantastic. 

It  was  the  first  time,  since  our  residence  at  the  camp, 
that  I  had  been  alone  with  her  under  circumstances 
which  placed  us  beyond  hearing  and  interruption.  I 
had  been  longing  and  laboring  for  this  opportunity,  and 
had  determined  to  bring  matters  between  us  to  a  crisis. 
I  had  faithfully  tried  to  do  those  things  and  to  adopt 
those  plans  and  purposes  of  life  which  would  command 
her  respect  and  confidence.  I  had  been  so  thoroughly 
sincere,  that  I  had  the  consciousness  of  deserving  her 
esteem,  even  though  her  heart  might  not  have  been 
lirv.vn  toward  ms  with  any  tenderer  regard.  I  had  been 


394  Arthur  Bonnicastle. 

in  no  haste  to  declare  my  passion,  but  the  few  days  \ 
had  spent  with  her  in  camp  had  so  ripened  and  intensi 
fied  it,  that  I  saw  I  could  not  carry  it  longer,  uncertain 
of  its  issue,  without  present  torment  or  prospective  dan 
ger.  It  seemed,  sometimes  to  my  great  horror,  as  if 
my  life  hung  entirely  upon  hers — as  if  existence  would 
be  a  curse  without  her  companionship. 

After  a  while  spent  in  silence  and  a  strange  embar 
rassment  I  took  the  oars,  and  as  quietly  as  possible 
rowed  out  into  the  middle  of  the  lake.  The  deep  blue 
sky  and  the  bright  moon  were  above  us,  and  the  pure 
water  below  ;  and  all  the  sounds  that  came  to  us  from 
the  shore  were  softened  into  music. 

At  last  I  broke  the  spell  that  had  held  my  voice  with 
what  I  intended  for  a  common-place,  and  said  :  "  It 
seems  a  comfort  to  get  away  from  the  boys  for  a  little 
while,  doesn't  it !  " 

"Does  it?"  she  responded.  "You  know  you  have 
the  advantage  of  me  ;  I  haven't  that  pleasure  yet." 

"Oh!  thank  you,"  I  said.  "I  didn't  know  that  you 
still  regarded  me  as  a  boy." 

"  You  were  to  remain  a  boy,  you  know.  Didn't  you 
promise  ?  Have  you  forgotten  ?  " 

"  Have  I  fulfilled  my  promise  ?  " 

"  Yes,  after  a  weary  time." 

"  And  you  recognize  the  boy  again,  do  you  ?  " 

"  I  think  so." 

"  Are  you  pleased  ?  " 

"  I  have  no  fault  to  find,  at  least." 

"  And  you  are  the  same  girl  I  used  to  know  ?  "  I  said' 

"  Yes." 

"Does  the  fact  forbid  us  to  talk  as  men  and  women 
talk  ?  " 

"  We  are  here  to  play,"  she  replied,  "and  I  suppose 
»ve  may  play  that  we  are  man  and  woman." 

"  Very  well,"  I  said,  "  suppose  we  play  that  we  arc 


Arthur  Bonnicastle.  395 

man  and  woman,  and  that  I  am  very  fond  of  you  and 
you  are  very  fond  of  me." 

"It  seems  very  difficult  to  play  this,  especially  when 
one  of  us  is  so  very  much  in  earnest." 

"Which  one?" 

"  The  one  who  wishes  to  play." 

"Ah!  Millie,"  I  said,  "you  really  must  not  bandy 
words  with  me.  Indeed,  I  am  too  much  in  earnest  to 
play.  I  have  a  secret  to  tell  you,  and  this  is  my  first 
good  opportunity  to  tell  it,  and  you  must  hear  it." 

"  A  secret  ?  do  you  think  so  ?  I  doubt  it." 

"  Do  you  read  me  so  easily  ?  " 

She  reached  out  her  hand  upon  the  water  to  grasp  a 
dark  little  object,  past  which  we  were  slowly  drifting, 
and  broke  off  from  its  long,  lithe  stem  a  water-lily,  and 
tossed  it  to  my  feet.  "  There's  a  secret  in  that  little 
cone,"  she  said,  "  but  I  know  what  it  is  as  well  as  if  the 
morning  sun  had  unfolded  it." 

"Do  you  mean  to  say  that  my  secret  has  opened 
under  the  spell  of  your  eyes  every  day  like  the  water- 
lily  to  the  sun  ?  " 

"  Yes,  if  you  insist  on  putting  it  in  that  very  poetical 
way." 

"  Are  you  fond  of  water-lilies  ?  " 

"  Very  :  fonder  of  them  than  of  any  other  flower  I 
know." 

"  Well,"  I  responded,  "  I'm  a  man,  or  a  boy — just 
which  you  choose — and  don't  pretend  to  be  a  water-lily, 
though  I  wish  my  roots  were  as  safely  anchored  and  my 
life  as  purely  surrounded  and  protected.  I  believe  that 
maidenhood  monopolizes  all  the  lilies  for  its  various  im 
personations,  but  for  the  present  purpose,  I  should  really 
like  to  ask  you  if  you  are  willing  to  take  the  water-lily 
for  the  one  flower  of  your  life,  with  all  its  secrets  which 
you  claim  to  understand  so  fully." 

"  Charmingly  done,"  she  said—"  for  a  boy  ' 


396  Arthur  Bonnicastle. 

"  You  taunt  me." 

"No,  Arthur,"  she  responded,  "but  you  really  are 
hurrying  things  so.  Just  think  of  trying  to  settle  every 
thing  in  five  minutes,  and  think,  too,  of  the  inconven 
ience  of  this  little  boat.  You  cannot  get  upon  your 
knees  without  upsetting  us,  and  then  you  know  I  might 
be  compelled  to  adopt  a  water-lily." 

"  Particularly  if  the  lily  should  save  your  life." 

"Yes." 

"  Suppose  we  go  ashore." 

"Not  for  the  world." 

"  Ah  !  Millie,  I  think  I  know  your  secret,"  I  said. 

"  It  isn't  hard  to  discover." 

"  Well,  then  let's  not  talk  in  riddles  any  more.  I  love 
you  more  than  life,  Millie !  may  I  continue  to  love 
you  ?  "  e> 

She  paused,  and  I  saw  tears  upon  her  face,  glittering 
in  the  moonlight. 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  "  always." 

"  Thank  you  !  thank  God  !  "  I  said  with  a  hearty  im 
pulse.  "  Life  is  all  bright  to  me  now,  and  all  full  of 
promise.  I  wish  I  could  come  to  you  and  close  this  bus 
iness  in  the  good  old  orthodox  fashion." 

She  laughed  at  my  vexation,  and  counselled  patience. 

There  is  something  very  provoking  about  the  coolness 
of  a  woman  under  circumstances  like  those  in  which  I 
found  myself.  For  many  days  I  had  permitted  myself 
to  be  wrought  into  an  exalted  state  of  feeling.  Indeed, 
I  had  been  mustering  strength  for  this  interview  during 
all  the  time  I  had  lived  in  the  camp.  I  was  prepared  to 
make  a  thousand  protestations  of  everlasting  devotion. 
I  was  ready  to  cast  at  her  feet  my  hopes,  my  life,  my 
all ;  yet  she  had  anticipated  everything,  and  managed 
to  hold  the  conversation  in  her  own  hands.  Then  she 
apparently  took  delight  in  keeping  me  at  my  end  of  the 
boat,  and  in  dissuading  me  from  my  ardent  wish  to  reach 


Arthur  Bonnicastle.  397 

the  shore.  I  said  I  thought  it  was  time  for  us  to  return. 
She  protested.  The  people  would  miss  us,  I  assured 
her,  and  would  be  apprehensive  that  we  had  met  with 
an  accident.  She  was  equally  sure  that  they  would  not 
miss  us  at  all.  Besides,  if  they  should,  a  little  scare 
would  give  piquancy  to  the  night's  pleasure,  and  she 
would  not  like  to  be  responsible  for  such  a  deprivation. 
In  truth,  I  think  she  would  have  been  delighted  to  keep 
me  on  the  lake  all  night. 

I  finally  told  her  that  I  held  the  oars,  that  if  she 
wished  to  remain  longer  she  would  accommodate  me  by 
jumping  overboard,  and  assured  her  that  I  would  faith 
fully  deliver  her  last  messages.  As  she  made  no  move 
ment,  I  dipped  my  oars  and  rowed  toward  the  dying 
lights  of  the  camp-fires,  congratulating  myself  that  I 
should  land  first,  and  help  her  from  the  boat.  Under 
the  sheltering  willows,  I  received  her  into  my  arms, 
and  gave  her  my  first  lover's  kiss.  We  walked  to  her 
tent  hand  in  hand,  like  children,  and  there,  while  the 
boys  gathered  round  us  to  learn  where  we  had  been,  and 
to  push  their  good-natured  inquiries  I  bent  and  gave 
ner  a  good-night  kiss,  which  told  the  whole  story  to 
them  all. 

It  seems  strange  to  me  now  that  I  could  have  done  so, 
and  that  she  would  have  permitted  it,  but  it  really  was 
so  like  a  family  matter,  in  which  all  were  interested  in 
the  most  friendly  or  brotherly  way,  that  it  was  quite  the 
natural  thing  to  do.  Millie  immediately  disappeared 
behind  her  muslin  walls,  while  I  was  overwhelmed  with 
congratulations.  Nor  was  this  all.  One  little  fellow 
called  for  three  cheers  for  Miss  Bradford,  which  were 
given  with  a  svill ;  and  then  three  cheers  were  given  to 
Arthur  Bonnicastle  ;  and,  as  their  lungs  were  in  practice, 
they  cheered  Henry  and  Claire,  and  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Bird, 
and  wound  up  that  part  of  their  exercise  by  three  cheers 
for  themselves.  Then  they  improvised  a  serenade  for 


398  Arthur  Bonnicastle. 

the  invisible  lady,  selecting  "  Oft  in  the  stilly  night,"  and 
"  The  Pirate's  Serenade,"  as  particularly  appropriate  to 
the  occasion,  and  went  to  their  beds  at  last  only  under 
the  peremptory  commands  of  Mr.  Bird. 

There  were  two  persons  among  the  fifty  that  lay  down 
upon  the  ground  that  night  who  did  not  sleep  very 
soundly,  though  the  large  remainder  slept,  I  presume, 
much  as  usual.  I  had  lain  quietly  thinking  over  the 
events  of  the  evening,  and  trying  to  realize  the  great 
blessing  I  had  won,  when,  at  about  two  o'clock  in  the 
morning,  I  heard  the  word  "  Arthur "  distinctly  pro 
nounced.  Not  having  removed  all  my  clothing,  I  leaped 
from  my  blanket,  and  ran  to  the  door  of  the  tent. 
There  I  heard  the  call  again,  and  recognized  the  voice 
of  Millie  Bradford. 

"Well,  what  is  it  ?  "  I  said. 

"  There  is  some  one  about  the  camp." 

By  this  time  Henry  was  on  his  feet  and  at  my  side, 
and  both  of  us  went  out  together.  We  stumbled  among 
the  tent-stakes  in  different  directions,  and  at  last  found 
a  man  so  muddled  with  liquor  that  he  hardly  knew 
where  he  was.  We  collared  him,  and  led  him  to  our 
tent,  where  we  inquired  of  him  his  business.  As  he 
seemed  unable  to  tell  us,  I  searched  his  pockets  for  the 
bottle  which  I  presumed  he  bore  about  him  somewhere, 
and  in  the  search  found  a  letter,  the  address  of  which  I 
read  with  the  expectation  of  ascertaining  his  name. 
Very  much  to  my  surprise,  the  letter  was  addressed  to 
Henry.  Then  the  whole  matter  became  plain  to  me. 
He  had  been  despatched  with  this  letter  from  Hillsbor- 
ough,  and  on  the  way  had  fallen  in  with  dissolute  com 
panions,  though  he  had  retained  sufficient  sense  to  know 
that  the  camp  was  his  destination. 

Henry  broke  the  seal.  The  letter  was  from  his  mother, 
informing  him  that  Mrs.  Sanderson  was  very  ill,  and  that 
she  desired  his  immediate  return  to  Bradford.  I  entered 


Arthur  Bonnicastlc.  399 

Mr.  Bird's  tent  and  told  him  of  the  letter,  and  then  satis 
fied  the  curiosity  of  Millie  and  Claire.  In  such  clothing 
as  we  could  snatch  readily  from  our  tents  we  gathered 
for  a  consultation,  which  resulted  in  the  conclusion  that 
any  sickness  which  was  sufficiently  serious  to  call  Henry 
home,  was  sufficient  to  induce  the  entire  Bradford  party 
to  accompany  him.  He  protested  against  this,  but  we 
overruled  him.  So  we  simply  lay  down  until  daylight, 
and  then  rose  for  a  hurried  breakfast.  Mr.  Bird  drove 
us  to  Hillsborough,  and  at  seven  o'clock  we  took  the 
stage  for  home. 

The  ride  homeward  was  overshadowed  by  a  grave  ap 
prehension,  and  the  old  driver  probably  never  had  a  qui 
eter  fare  over  his  route  than  the  party  which,  only  a  few 
clays  before,  had  astonished  him  by  their  hilarity. 

On  reaching  Bradford  we  found  our  worst  fears  real 
ized.  The  old  lady  was  rapidly  declining,  and  for  three 
days  had  been  vainly  calling  for  her  grandson.  When  he 
arrived  he  brought  to  her  a  great  flood  of  comfort,  and 
with  her  hand  in  his,  she  descended  into  the  dark  val 
ley.  What  words  she  spoke  I  never  knew.  I  was  only 
sure  that  she  went  out  of  her  earthly  life  in  an  atmosphere 
of  the  most  devoted  filial  affection,  that  words  of  Chris 
tian  counsel  and  prayer  were  tenderly  spoken  to  her 
deafening  senses,  and  that  hands  bathed  in  tears  closed 
her  eyes. 

The  funeral  was  the  largest  and  most  remarkable  I 
had  ever  seen  in  Bradford,  and  Henry  went  back  to  his 
home,  its  owner  and  master. 

On  the  day  following  the  funeral  my  father  was  sum 
moned  to  listen  to  the  reading  of  Mrs.  Sanderson's 
will.  We  were  all  surprised  at  this,  and  still  more  sur 
prised  to  learn,  when  he  returned,  that  the  house  in 
which  he  lived  had  been  bequeathed  to  him,  with  an  an- 
nuity  which  would  forever  relieve  me  from  supporting 
him  after  he  should  cease  to  labor.  This  I  knew  to  be 


400  Arthur  Bonnicastle. 

Henry's  work.  My  father  was  the  father  of  his  future 
wife,  and  to  save  him  the  mortification  of  being  depend 
ent  on  his  children,  he  had  influenced  Mrs.  Sanderson 
to  do  that  which  he  or  I  should  be  obliged  to  do  at  some 
time  not  far  in  the  future. 

My  father  was  very  grateful  and  tearful  over  this  un 
expected  turn  in  his  fortunes.  My  mother  could  not 
realize  it  at  all,  and  was  sure  there  must  be  some  mis 
take  about  it.  One  of  the  most  touching  things  in  the 
prayer  offered  that  night  at  our  family  altar  was  the 
earnest  petition  by  this  simple  and  humble  saint  that  his 
pride  might  not  be  nourished  by  this  good  fortune. 

After  this  the  matter  came  to  a  natural  shape  in  the 
good  man's  mind.  It  was  not  Mrs.  Sanderson's  gift.  Slip 
had  been  only  the  almoner  of  Providence.  The  God 
whom  he  had  trusted,  seeing  that  the  time  of  helpless 
ness  was  coming,  had  provided  for  his  necessities,  and 
relieved  him  of  all  apprehension  of  want,  and,  more  than 
all,  had  relieved  me  of  a  burden.  Indeed,  it  had  only 
fulfilled  a  life-long  expectation.  His  natural  hopeful 
ness  would  have  died  amid  his  hard  life  and  circumstan 
ces  if  it  had  not  fed  itself  upon  dreams. 

I  am  sure,  however,  that  he  never  felt  quite  easy  with 
his  gift,  so  long  as  he  lived,  but  carried  about  with  him 
a  sense  of  guilt.  Others — his  old  companions  in  labor — 
were  not  blessed  with  him,  and  he  could  not  resist  the 
feeling  that  he  had  wronged  them.  They  congratulated 
him  on  his  "luck,"  as  they  called  it,  for  they  were  all 
his  friends ;  but  their  allusions  to  the  matter  always 
pained  him,  and  he  had  many  an  hour  of  torment  over 
the  thought  that  some  of  them  might  think  him  capable 
of  forgetting  them,  and  of  pluming  his  pride  upon  hi? 
altered  circumstances. 

It  was,  perhaps,  a  fortnight  after  the  death  of  Mrs. 
Sanderson,  that  Henry  came  to  my  father's  house  one 
morning,  and  asked  me  when  I  intended  to  begin  busi- 


Arthur  Bonnicastle.  401 

ness.  I  informed  him  that  I  had  already  been  looking 
for  an  eligible  office,  and  that  I  should  begin  the  practice 
of  the  law  as  soon  as  the  opportunity  should  come.  Then 
he  frankly  told  me  that  looking  after  his  multiplied  affairs 
was  very  distasteful  to  him,  and  that  he  wished,  as  soon 
as  possible,  to  place  everything  in  my  hands.  He  ad 
vised  me  to  take  the  best  and  most  central  chambers  I 
could  find,  and  offered  me,  at  little  more  than  a  nominal 
rent,  a  suite  of  rooms  in  one  of  his  own  buildings.  I 
took  the  rooms  at  once,  and  furnished  them  with  such 
appointments  and  books  as  the  savings  of  three  indus 
trious  years  could  command,  and  Henry  was  my  first,  as 
he  has  remained  my  constant,  client.  The  affairs  of  the 
Sanderson  estate,  of  which  I  knew  more  than  any  man 
except  Mrs.  Sanderson's  lawyer,  were  placed  in  my  hands, 
where  they  remain  at  this  present  writing.  The  business 
connected  with  them  was  quite  enough  for  my  support  in 
those  days  of  moderate  expenses  and  incomes,  but  it 
brought  me  so  constantly  into  contact  with  the  business 
men  of  the  city  that,  gradually,  the  tide  of  legal  practice 
set  toward  me,  until,  in  my  maturer  years,  I  was  almost 
overwhelmed  by  it.  I  was  energetic,  enthusiastic,  per 
severing,  indomitable,  and  successful ;  but  amid  all  my 
triumphs  there  was  nothing  that  gave  me  such  pure  hap 
piness  as  my  father's  satisfaction  with  my  efforts. 

I  never  engaged  in  an  important  public  trial  for  many 
years  in  which  he  was  not  a  constant  attendant  at  the 
court-house.  All  the  lawyers  knew  him,  and  my  position 
commanded  a  seat  for  him  inside  the  bar.  Every  morn 
ing  he  came  in,  leaning  on  his  cane,  and  took  the  seat 
that  was  left  or  vacated  for  him,  and  there,  all  day  long, 
he  sat  and  watched  me.  If  for  a  day  he  happened  to  be 
absent,  1  missed  the  inspiration  of  his  interested  face 
and  approving  eyes,  as  if  he  were  a  lover.  My  office  was 
his  lounging-place,  and  my  public  efforts  were  his  meat 
and  drink.  A  serener,  sweeter  old  age  than  his  I  never 
26 


4O2  Arthur  Bonnicastle. 

saw,  and  when,  at  last,  I  missed  him — for  death  came  to 
him  as  it  comes  to  all — I  felt  that  one  of  the  loveliest 
lights  of  my  life  had  gone  out.  I  have  never  ceased  to 
mourn  for  him,  and  I  would  not  cease  to  mourn  for  him 
if  I  could. 

A  year  after  I  commenced  the  practice  of  my  profes 
sion,  Mr.  Grimshaw  exhausted  his  narrow  lode  and  went  to 
mine  in  other  fields.  Naturally,  Henry  was  called  upon  to 
fill  temporarily  the  vacant  pulpit,  and  quite  as  naturally, 
the  people  learned  in  a  few  weeks  that  they  could  serve 
themselves  no  better  than  by  calling  him  to  a  permanent 
pastorate.  This  they  did,  and  as  he  was  at  home  with 
them,  and  every  circumstance  favored  his  settlement  over 
them,  he  accepted  their  invitation.  On  the  day  of  his 
ordination — a  ceremony  which  was  very  largely  attended 
— he  treated  his  new  people  to  a  great  surprise.  Before 
the  benediction  was  pronounced,  he  descended  from  the 
pulpit,  took  his  way  amid  the  silence  of  the  congregation 
to  my  father's  pew,  and  then  led  my  sister  Claire  up  the 
broad  aisle  to  where  an  aged  minister  stood  waiting  to 
receive  them,  and  join  them  in  holy  wedlock.  The  words 
were  few  which  united  these  two  lives  that  had  flowed  in 
closely  parallel  currents  through  so  long  a  period,  but 
they  were  spoken  with  great  feeling,  and  amid  the  tears 
of  a  crowd  of  sympathetic  friends.  So  the  church  had 
once  more  a  pastor,  and  The  Mansion  once  more  a  mis 
tress  ;  and  two  widely  divided  currents  of  the  Bonnicastle 
blood  united  in  the  possession  and  occupation  of  the 
family  estate. 

I  do  not  need  to  give  the  details  of  my  own  marriage, 
which  occurred  a  few  months  later,  or  of  our  first  expe 
riments  at  house-keeping  in  the  snug  home  which  my 
quick  prosperity  enabled  me  to  procure,  or  of  the  chil 
dren  that  came  to  bless  us  in  the  after  years.  The  mem 
ory  of  these  events  is  too  sweet  and  sacred  to  be  unveiled., 
and  I  cannot  record  them,  though  my  tears  wet  the  pa 


ArtJiur  Bonnicastlc.  403 

per  as  I  write.  The  freshness  of  youth  has  long  passed 
away,  the  silver  is  stronger  than  the  jet  among  the  curls 
of  the  dear  woman  who  gave  herself  to  me,  and  bore  in 
loving  pain,  and  reared  with  loving  patience,  my  price 
less  flock  of  children  ;  my  own  face  is  deeply  furrowed 
by  care  and  labor  and  time  ;  but  those  days  of  young 
love  and  life  never  come  back  to  me  in  memory  save  as 
a  breeze  across  a  weary  sea  from  some  far  island  loaded 
with  odors  of  balm  and  whispers  of  blessing. 

Thank  God  for  home  and  woman  !  Thank  God  a 
thousand  times  for  that  woman  who  makes  home  her 
throne !  When  I  remember  how  bright  and  strong  a 
nature  my  young  wife  possessed — how  her  gifts  and  ac 
quirements  and  her  whole  personality  fitted  her  to  shine 
in  society  as  a  centre  and  a  sun — and  then  recall  her 
efforts  to  serve  and  solace  me,  and  train  my  children 
into  a  Christian  manhood  and  womanhood,  until  my 
house  was  a  heaven,  and  its  presiding  genius  was  re 
garded  with  a  love  that  rose  to  tender  adoration — I  turn 
with  pity,  not  unmingled  with  disgust,  from  those  I  see 
around  me  now,  who  cheapen  marriage,  the  motherly 
office  and  home,  and  choose  and  advocate  courses  and 
careers  of  life  independent  of  them  all. 

Neither  Henry's  marriage  nor  my  own  was  in  the 
slightest  degree  romantic — hardly  romantic  enough  to 
be  of  interest  to  the  average  reader. 

It  was  better  so.  Our  courtships  were  long  and  out 
lives  were  so  shaped  to  each  other  that  when  marriage 
came  it  was  merely  the  warrant  and  seal  of  a  union  that 
had  already  been  established.  Each  lover  knew  his 
love,  and  no  misunderstandings  supervened.  The  hand 
of  love,  by  an  unconscious  process,  had  shaped  each  man 
to  his  mate,  each  woman  to  her  mate,  before  they  were 
joined,  and  thus  saved  all  after-discords  and  collisions. 
All  this  may  be  very  uninteresting  to  outsiders,  but  to 
those  concerned  it  was  harmony,  satisfaction,  and  peace. 


404  Arthur  Bonnicastle. 


CHAPTER   XXVI. 

WHICH    BRIEFLY   RECORDS   THE   PROFESSIONAL   LIFE 
OF   REV.    PETER   MULLENS. 

IT  must  have  been  three  or  four  years  after  Henry 
took  charge  of  his  parish,  and  I  had  entered  upon  the 
iuties  of  my  profession,  that  I  met  him  one  morning 
upon  the  street,  wearing  that  peculiar  smile  on  his  face 
which  said,  as  plainly  as  words  could  have  told  me,  that 
he  was  the  bearer  of  news. 

"  Who  do  you  think  spent  the  night  at  The  Mansion, 
and  is  even  now  revelling  in  the  luxuries  of  your  old 
apartment  ?  "  said  he. 

"  I  was  never  good  at  conundrums,"  I  replied.  "  Sup* 
pose  you  tell  me." 

"  The  Rev.  Peter  Mullens." 

"  Clothed,  and  in  his  right  mind  ?  " 

"  Yes,  clothed,  for  he  has  one  of  my  coats  on,  which 
I  have  told  him  he  may  carry  away  with  him  ;  and  in 
his  right  mind,  because  he  has  the  coat,  and  expects  to 
live  upon  the  donor  for  a  few  days." 

We  both  laughed  over  the  situation,  and  then  Henry 
told  me  that  Mullens  was  in  a  good  deal  of  perplexity 
on  account  of  the  fact  that  he  had  two  "  calls  "  on  hand, 
to  which  answers  must  be  made  immediately. 

"  I  have  agreed  with  Mullens,"  said  Henry,  "  to  in 
vite  you  to  dinner,  in  order  that  he  may  have  the  bene 
fit  of  your  advice." 

"  Thank  you.     Is  there  a  fee  ?  " 

"  Nothing  stipulated,  but  I  think  you  had  better  bring 
a  pair  of  trowsers,"  he  replied.  "  Mullens,  you  know, 
wants  to  see  the  advantages  that  are  likely  to  come  from 
following  your  advice,  and  if  he  has  them  in  hand  he 
can  decide  at  once." 


ArtJiur  Bonnicastle.  405 

The  prospect  of  dining  with  Mullens  was  not  an  un 
pleasant  one.  I  was  curious  to  see  what  he  had  made 
of  himself,  and  to  learn  what  he  was  going  to  do.  So  I 
congratulated  Henry  on  the  new  light  that  had  risen 
upon  his  domestic  life,  and  promised  him  that  I  would 
meet  his  guest  at  his  table. 

On  entering  The  Mansion  that  day  in  my  usual  in 
formal  way,  I  found  the  Rev.  Peter  Mullens  lying  nearly 
upon  his  back,  in  the  most  luxurious  chair  of  the  large 
drawing-room,  apparently  in  a  state  of  serene  and  su 
preme  happiness.  He  was  enjoying  the  privileges  of  the 
cloth,  in  the  house  of  a  professional  brother  who  had 
been  exceptionally  "  favored."  For  the  time,  the  house 
was  his  own.  All,  petty  cares  were  dismissed.  All  clouds 
were  lifted  from  his  life,  in  the  consciousness  that  he 
had  a  good  coat  on  which  had  cost  him  nothing,  and 
that,  for  a  few  days  at  least,  board  and  lodging  were  se 
cure  at  the  same  price.  His  hair  was  brushed  back 
straight  over  his  head  in  the  usual  fashion,  and  evi 
dently  fastened  there  by  the  contents  of  a  box  of  poma 
tum  which  he  had  found  in  my  old  chamber.  He  had 
managed  to  get  some  gold-bowed  spectacles,  and  when 
I  met  him  he  presented  quite  an  imposing  front.  Rising 
and  greeting  me  with  a  cordial  and  somewhat  patroniz 
ing  air,  he  quickly  resumed  his  seat  and  his  attitude, 
and  subsided  into  a  vein  of  moralizing.  He  thought  it 
must  be  a  source  of  great  satisfaction  to  me  that  the 
property  which  had  once  been  my  own,  apparently,  had 
been  devoted  to  the  ministry,  and  that  henceforth  The 
Mansion  would  be  the  home  of  those  who  had  given 
themselves  to  the  church. 

Mullens  evidently  regarded  himself  as  one  who  had  a 
certain  pecuniary  interest  in  the  estate.  The  house  was 
to  be  his  tavern — his  free,  temporary  home— whenever 
it  might  be  convenient  for  him  to  pass  a  portion  of  his 
time  in  the  city.  Indeed,  he  conducted  himself  as  if  he 


406  Artliur  Bonnicastle. 

were  my  host,  and  expressed  the  hope  that  he  should 
see  me  always  when  visiting  the  town.  His  assump 
tions  amused  me  exceedingly,  though  I  was  sorry  to 
think  that  Henry  and  Claire  would  feel  themselves  ob 
liged  to  tolerate  him. 

At  the  dinner-table,  Mr.  Mullens  disclosed  the  ques 
tions  in  regard  to  his  settlement.  "The  truth  is,"  said 
he,  "that  I  am  divided  on  a  question  of  duty.  Given 
equal  opportunities  of  doing  good,  and  unequal  compen 
sation,  on  which  side  does  duty  lie  ?  That  is  the  ques 
tion.  I  don't  wish  to  be  mercenary ;  but  when  one 
Church  offers  me  five  hundred  dollars  a  year,  payable 
quarterly  in  advance,  and  the  other  offers  me  five  hun 
dred  dollars  a  year,  payable  quarterly  at  the  end  of  the 
quarter,  with  an  annual  donation-party,  I  feel  myself  di 
vided.  There  is  an  advantage  in  being  paid  quarterly 
in  advance,  and  there  is  an  advantage  in  a  donation- 
party,  provided  the  people  do  not  eat  up  what  they 
bring.  How  great  this  advantage  is  I  do  not  know  ;  but 
there  is  something  very  attractive  to  me  in  a  donation - 
party.  It  throws  the  people  together,  it  nourishes  the 
social  element,  it  develops  systematic  benevolence,  ic 
cements  the  friendship  of  pastor  and  people,  it  brings  .1 
great  many  things  into  the  house  that  a  man  can  never 
afford  to  buy,  and  it  must  be  exceedingly  interesting  to 
reckon  up  the  results.  I've  thought  about  it  a  great  deal, 
and  it  does  seem  to  me  that  a  donation-party  must  be  a 
very  valuable  test  of  usefulness.  How  am  I  to  know 
whether  my  services  are  acceptable,  unless  every  year 
there  is  some  voluntary  testimonial  concerning  them  ? 
It  seems  to  me  that  I  must  have  such  a  testimonial.  I 
find  myself  looking  forward  to  it.  Here's  an  old  farmer, 
we'll  say,  without  any  public  gifts.  Hosannas  languish 
on  his  tongue,  and,  so  far  as  I  can  tell,  all  devotion  dies. 
He  brings  me,  perhaps,  two  cords  or  two  cords  and  a 
half  of  good  hard  wood,  and  by  that  act  he  says,  '  The 


Arthur  Bonnicastlc.  407 

Rev.  Mr.  Mullens  has  benefited  me,  and  I  wish  to  tell 
him  so.  He  has  warmed  my  heart,  and  I  will  warm  his 
body.  He  has  ministered  to  me  in  his  way,  and  I  will 
minister  to  him  in  my  way.'  Here's  a  woman  with  a  gift 
of  flannel — a  thing  that's  always  useful  in  a  minister's 
family — and  there's  another  with  a  gift  of  socks,  and 
here's  another  with  a  gift  of  crullers,  and  here's  a  man 
with  a  gift  of  a  spare-rib  or  a  ham,  and  another  with  a 
gift  of  potatoes,  and  " 

Mr.  Mullens  gave  an  extra  smack  to  his  lips,  as,  in  the 
midst  of  his  dinner,  this  vision  of  a  possible  donation- 
party  passed  before  the  eyes  of  his  imagination. 

"  It  is  plain  to  see  which  way  your  inclination  points," 
I  said  to  him. 

"  Yes,  that  is  what  troubles  me,"  he  responded.  "  I 
wish  to  do  right.  There  may  be  no  difference  between 
having  your  pay  quarterly  in  advance  and  the  donation- 
party  ;  but  the  donation-party,  all  things  considered,  is 
the  most  attractive." 

"  I  really  think  it  would  suit  you  best,"  I  said,  "and 
if  the  opportunity  for  doing  good  is  the  same  in  each 
place,  I'm  sure  you  ought  not  to  hesitate." 

"Well,  if  I  accept  your  advice,"  said  Mr.  Mullens, 
"  you  must  stand  by  me.  This  place  is  only  six  miles 
from  Bradford,  and  if  I  ever  get  hard  up  it  will  be  pleas 
ant  to  think  that  I  have  such  friends  at  hand  as  you  and 
Brother  Sanderson." 

This  was  a  new  aspect  of  the  affair,  and  not  at  all  a 
pleasant  one  ;  but  I  had  given  my  advice  and  could  not 
retract  it. 

Mullens  remained  at  The  Mansion  several  days,  and 
showed  his  white  cravat  and  gold-bowed  spectacles  all 
over  the  city.  He  was  often  in  my  office,  and  on  one 
occasion  accompanied  me  to  the  court-room,  where  I 
gave  him  a  seat  of  honor  and  introduced  him  to  my 
legal  friends.  He  was  so  very  comfortable  in  his  splendid 


408  Arthur  Bonnicaslle. 

quarters,  so  shielded  from  the  homely  affairs  of  the 
world  by  his  associations,  and  so  inexpensive  to  him 
self,  that  it  was  a  hardship  to  tear  himself  away  at  last, 
even  with  the  prospect  of  a  donation-party  rising  before 
him  in  the  attractive  perspective  of  his  future. 

He  had  been  several  days  in  the  house,  and  had  se 
cured  such  plunder  as  would  be  of  use  to  him,  person 
ally,  when  he  surprised  us  all  by  the  announcement  that 
he  was  a  married  man,  and  was  already  the  father  of  a 
helpless  infant.  He  gave  us  also  to  understand  that 
Mrs.  Mullens  was,  like  himself,  poor,  that  her  wardrobe 
v/as  none  of  the  most  comfortable,  and  that  her  "  help 
less  infant "  would  rejoice  in  garments  cast  off  by  chil 
dren  more  "  favored  "  than  his  own.  His  statement  was 
intended  to  appeal  to  Claire  and  Millie,  and  was  re 
sponded  to  accordingly.  When  he  went  away,  he  bore 
a  trunk  full  of  materials,  that,  as  he  said,  "would  be 
useful  in  a  minister's  family." 

Henry  and  I  attended  his  installation  shortly  after 
ward,  and  assisted  him  in  beginning  his  housekeeping. 
We  found  Mrs.  Mullens  to  be  a  woman  every  way 
adapted  to  the  companion  she  had  chosen.  She  was 
willing  to  live  upon  her  friends.  She  delighted  in  gifts, 
and  took  them  as  if  they  were  hers  by  right.  Everything 
was  grain  that  came  to  her  mill  in  this  way.  Her  wants 
and  her  inability  to  supply  them  were  the  constant  theme 
of  her  communications  with  her  friends  and  neighbors, 
and  for  ten  long  years  she  was  never  without  a  "  help 
less  infant "  with  which  to  excite  their  laggard  and 
weary  charities.  Whenever  she  needed  to  purchase  any 
thing,  she  sent  to  me  or  to  Millie,  or  to  her  friends  at  The 
Mansion,  her  commission — always  without  the  money. 
She  either  did  not  know  how  much  the  desired  articles 
would  cost,  or  there  was  such  danger  of  losing  money 
when  sent  by  post,  or  she  had  not  the  exact  change  on 
hand  •  but  she  assured  us  that  Mr.  Mullens  would  caU 


Arthur  Bonnicastlc.  409 

and  pay  us  when  visiting  Bradford.  The  burden  thus 
rolled  upon  Mr.  Mullens  was  never  taken  up  by  him  ; 
and,  so,  year  after  year,  we  consented  to  be  bled  by  this 
amiable  woman,  while  the  Mullens  family  went  on  in 
creasing  in  numbers  and  multiplying  in  wants.  It  be 
came  a  matter  of  wonder  that  any  religious  society 
should  be  content  with  the  spiritual  ministrations  of  such 
a  man  as  Mullens  ;  but  this  society  was  simple  and  poor, 
and  their  pastor  had  an  ingenious  way  of  warming  over 
his  old  broth  and  the  old  broth  of  others  which  secured 
for  him  a  certain  measure  of  re'spect.  His  tongue  was 
glib,  his  presence  imposing  and  his  self-assurance  quite 
overwhelming. 

But  at  last  there  came  a  change.  New  residents  in  the 
parish  saw  through  his  shallow  disguises,  and  raised  such 
a  storm  of  discontent  about  his  ears  that  he  was  com 
pelled  to  resign  his  pulpit  and  to  cast  about  for  other 
means  of  living.  No  other  pulpit  opened  its  doors  to 
him.  The  man's  reputation  outside  of  his  parish  was 
not  a  desirable  one.  Everybody  had  ceased  to  regard 
him  as  a  man  capable  of  teaching  ;  and  he  had  so  beg 
ged  his  way  and  lived  upon  his  acquaintances,  and  had 
so  meanly  incurred  and  meanly  refused  to  recognize  a 
thousand  little  debts  among  his  early  friends,  that  it  was 
impossible  for  him  to  obtain  even  a  temporary  engage 
ment  as  a  preacher. 

There  was  nothing  left  for  him  to  do,  but  to  become 
a  peddler  of  some  sort,  for  which  office  he  had  rare  natu 
ral  gifts.  Leaving  his  family  where  they  were,  he  took 
an  agency  for  the  sale  of  the  Cottage  Bible.  He  drove 
a  thrifty  business  with  this  publication,  going  from  house 
to  house,  wearing  always  his  white  cravat,  living  upon 
the  ministers  and  deacons,  and  advertising  himself  by 
speeches  at  evening  meetings  and  Sunday-schools. 
Sometimes  he  got  an  opportunity  to  preach  on  Sunday, 
and,  having  thus  made  his  face  familiar  to  the  people, 


4io  Arthur  Bonnicastle. 

drove  a  brisk  business  among  them  on  Monday.  His 
white  cravat  he  used  as  a  sort  of  pass  on  railroads  and 
steamboats,  or  as  an  instrument  by  which  it  was  to  be 
secured.  Every  pecuniary  consideration  which  could 
be  won  from  a  contemptuous  business  world,  by  the  ad 
vertisement  of  the  sacred  office  which  he  once  held,  he 
took  the  boldest  or  the  most  abject  way  to  win. 

It  must  not  be  supposed  that  "  old  Mullens,"  as  peo 
ple  learned  to  call  him,  was  really  distressed  by  poverty. 
Never  paying  out  a  cent  of  money  that  came  into  his 
hands  if  he  could  avoid  it,  he  accumulated  a  handsome 
property,  which  he  skilfully  hid  away  in  investments, 
maintaining  his  show  of  poverty,  through  all  his  active 
life.  Henry  shook  him  off  at  last  and  helped  me  to  do 
the  same.  We  heard  of  him  not  long  ago  lecturing  to 
Sunday-schools  and  buying  wood,  and  it  is  not  ten  years 
since  he  appeared  in  Bradford  as  an  agent  of  a  life-in 
surance  company,  with  specially  favorable  terms  to 
clergymen  who  were  kind  enough  to  board  him  during 
his  visit.  I  shrink  from  writing  here  the  stories  I  heard 
about  him,  concerning  the  way  in  which  he  advertised 
his  business  by  mixing  it  with  his  public  religious  teach 
ings,  because  it  associates  such  base  ideas  with  an  office 
which  I  revere  as  the  highest  and  holiest  a  man  can 
hold ;  but  when  I  say  that  in  his  public  addresses  he 
represented  the  Christian  religion  as  a  system  of  life- 
insurance  of  the  spiritual  kind,  I  sufficiently  illustrate  his 
methods  and  his  motives. 

He  passed  a  useless  life.  He  became  a  nuisance  to 
his  professional  brethren,  a  burden  to  all  who  were 
good-natured  enough  to  open  their  houses  to  him,  and 
a  disgrace  to  the  Christian  ministry.  Wearing  the 
badge  of  a  clergyman,  exacting  as  a  right  that  which 
was  rendered  to  others  as  a  courtesy  or  a  testimonial  of 
love  and  friendship,  surrendering  his  manhood  for  the 
privileges  of  ministerial  mendicancy,  and  indulging  his 


Arthur  Bonnicastle.  411 

greed  for  money  at  the  expense  of  a  church  to  which  he 
fancied  he  had  given  his  life,  he  did,  unwittingly,  per 
haps,  what  he  could  to  bring  popular  contempt  upon 
his  profession,  and  to  associate  with  the  Christian  relig 
ion  the  meanest  type  of  personal  character  it  is  possible 
to  conceive. 

Amid  the  temptations  of  this  poor,  earthly  life,  and 
the  weaknesses  of  human  nature,  even  the  most  sacred 
profession  will  be  disgraced,  now  and  then,  by  men 
who  repent  in  dust  and  ashes  over  their  fall  from  recti 
tude,  and  the  dishonor  they  bring  upon  a  cause  which 
in  their  hearts  they  love  ;  but  Mullens  carried  his  self- 
complacency  to  the  end,  and  demonstrated  by  his  char 
acter  and  influence  how  important  it  is  that  dunces  shall 
not  be  encouraged  to  enter  upon  a  high  walk  of  life  by 
benefactions  which  rarely  fail  to  induce  and  develop  in 
them  the  spirit  of  beggars.  I  am  sure  there  is  no  field 
of  Christian  benevolence  more  crowded  with  untoward 
results  than  that  in  which  weak  men  have  found  the 
means  for  reaching  the  Christian  ministry.  The  beg 
garly  helplessness  of  some  of  these  men  is  pitiful ;  and 
a  spirit  of  dependence  is  fostered  in  them  which  emas 
culates  them,  and  makes  them  contemptible  among 
those  whom  they  seek  to  influence. 

Though  the  Rev.  Peter  Mullens  is  still  living,  I  have 
no  fear  that  I  shall  be  called  to  an  account  for  my  plain 
treatment  of  him,  as  he  will  never  buy  this  book,  or  find 
a  friend  who  will  be  willing  to  give  or  lend  it  to  him. 
Even  if  he  had  such  a  friend,  and  he  should  recognize 
his  portrait,  his  amour  proprc  would  not  be  wounded, 
and  he  would  complacently  regard  himself  as  persecuted 
for  righteousness'  sake. 


412  Arthur  Bonuicastlc. 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

IN  WHICH  I  SAY  GOOD-NIGHT  TO  MY  FRIENDS  AND  THE 
PAST,  AND  GOOD-MORROW  TO  MY  WORK  AND  THE  FU 
TURE. 

THUS  I  have  lived  over  the  old  life,  or,  rather  the 
young  life  which  lies  with  all  its  vicissitudes  of  pain  and 
pleasure,  and  all  its  lessons  and  inspirations,  embalmed 
in  my  memory  ;  and  here,  alas  !  I  must  re-write  the 
words  with  which  I  began.  "  They  were  all  here  then — 
father,  mother,  brothers  and  sisters  ;  and  the  family  life 
was  at  its  fullest.  Now  they  are  all  gone,  and  I  am 
alone.  I  have  wife  and  children  and  troops  of  friends, 
yet  still  I  am  alone."  No  later  relation  can  remove  the 
sense  of  loneliness  that  comes  to  him  whose  first  home 
has  forever  vanished  from  the  earth. 

As  I  sit  in  my  library,  recording  this  last  chapter  of 
my  little  history,  I  look  back  through  the  ceaseless 
round  of  business  and  care,  and,  as  upon  a  panorama 
unrolling  before  me,  I  see  through  tears  the  events 
which  have  blotted  out,  one  after  another,  the  old  rela 
tions,  and  transferred  the  lives  I  loved  to  another  sphere. 

I  see  a  sun-lit  room,  where  my  aged  father  lies  prop 
ped  among  his  pillows,  and  tells  me  feebly,  but  with  a 
strange  light  in  his  eyes,  that  it  is  so  much  better  for 
him  to  go  before  my  mother !  She  can  do  better  with 
out  him  than  he  can  without  her  !  It  is  sweet  to  learn 
that  she  who  has  always  been  regarded  by  her  family 
and  friends  as  a  care  and  a  burden  to  him,  had  been 
his  rest  and  reward  ;  that  there  had  always  been  some 
thing  in  his  love  for  her  which  had  atoned  for  his  hard 
lot,  and  that,  without  her,  his  life  would  be  undesirable. 

I  read  to  him  the  psalms  of  assurance  and  consola 
tion  :  "  Yea,  though  I  walk  through  the  valley  of  the 


Arthur  Bonnicastlc.  4*3 

shadow  of  death,  I  will  fear  no  evil."  I  repeat  the  words 
of  the  tried  and  patient  patriarch  :  "I  know  that  my 
Redeemer  liveth."  I  join  svith  the  family  in  singing  the 
inspiring  lines  which  he  had  never  undertaken  to  read 
aloud  without  being  crushed  into  sobbing  silence  : 

"  There  is  a  calm  for  those  who  weep, 

A  rest  for  weary  pilgrims  found  ; 
They  softly  lie  and  sweetly  sleep 
Low  in  the  ground. 

"  The  storm  that  wrecks  the  winter  sky 
No  more  disturbs  their  deep  repose 
Than  summer  evening's  latest  sigh 
That  shuts  the  rose. 

"  I  long  to  lay  this  painful  head 

And  aching  heart  beneath  the  soil, 
To  slumber  in  that  dreamless  bed 
From  all  my  toil. 

"  The  sun  is  but  a  spark  of  fire, 

A  transient  meteor  in  the  sky  ; 
The  soul,  immortal  as  its  sire, 
Shall  never  die." 

I  press  his  hand,  and  hear  him  say  :  "  It  is  all  well 
Take  care  of  your  mother." 

We  all  bend  and  kiss  him  ;  a  few  quick  breaths,  and 
the  dear  old  heart  is  still— a  heart  so  true,  so  tender,  so 
pure,  so  faithful,  so  trusting,  that  no  man  could  know  it 
without  recognizing  the  Christian  grace  that  made  it  what 
it  was,  or  finding  in  it  infallible  evidence  of  the  divinity 
of  the  religion  by  whose  moulding  hand  it  was  shaped, 
and  from  whose  inspirations  it  had  drawn  its  life.  Then 
we  lay  him  to  rest  among  the  June  roses,  with  birds  sing 
ing  around  us,  and  all  nature  robed  in  the  glowing  garb 
of  summer,  feeling  that  there  are  wings  near  us  which 
we  do  not  see,  that  songs  are  breathed  which  we  do  not 
hear,  and  that  somewhere,  beyond  the  confines  of  mor- 


4H  Arthur  Bonnicastle. 

tal  pain  and  decay,  he  has  found  a  summer  that  will  be 
perennial. 

The  picture  moves  along,  and  I  am  in  the  same  room 
again  ;  and  she  who  all  her  life,  through  fear  of  death, 
had  been  subject  to  bondage,  has  come  to  her  final  hour. 
She  has  reached  the  door  of  the  sepulchre  from  a  long 
distance,  questioning  painfully  at  every  step  :  "  Who 
shall  roll  away  the  stone?"  and  now  that  she  is  arrived, 
she  finds,  to  her  unspeakable  joy  and  peace,  that  the 
stone  is  rolled  away.  Benignant  nature,  which  has  given 
her  so  strong  a  love  of  life,  overcomes  in  its  own  tender 
way  the  fear  of  death  that  had  been  generated  in  her 
melancholic  temperament,  and  by  stealing  her  senses 
one  by  one,  makes  his  coming  not  only  dreadless,  but 
desirable.  She  finds  the  angels  too,  one  at  the  head, 
the  other  at  the  foot  where  death  has  lain,  with  white 
hands  pointing  upward.  I  weep,  but  I  am  grateful  that 
the  life  of  fear  is  past,  and  that  she  can  never  live  it 
again, — grateful,  too,  that  she  is  reunited  to  him  who 
has  been  waiting  to  introduce  her  to  her  new  being  and 
relations.  We  lay  her  by  the  side  of  the  true  husband 
whose  life  she  has  shared,  and  whose  children  she  has 
borne  and  reared,  and  then  go  back  to  a  home  which 
death  has  left  without  a  head — to  a  home  that  is  a  home 
no  longer. 

The  picture  moves  on,  and  this  time  I  witness  a  scene 
full  of  tender  interest  to  me  in  my  own  house.  A  holy 
spell  of  waiting  is  upon  us  all.  Aunt  Flick  comes  in. 
day  after  day,  with  little  services  which  only  she  can  ren 
der  to  her  tenderly  beloved  niece,  and  with  little  gar 
ments  in  her  hands  that  wait  the  coming  of  a  stranger. 
It  is  night,  and  there  is  hurrying  to  and  fro  in  the  house. 
I  sit  in  my  room,  wrapped  in  pity  and  feverish  with 
anxiety,  with  no  utterance  save  that  of  whispered  pray 
ers  for  the  safety  of  one  dearer  to  me  than  life.  I  hear 
at  last  the  feeble  w.ail  of  a  new  being  which  God  has  in- 


Arthtir  Bonnicastlc.  415 

trusted  to  her  hands  and  mine.  Some  one  comes  and 
tells  me  that  all  is  well,  and  then,  after  a  weary  hour,  I 
am  summoned  to  the  chamber  where  the  great  mystery 
of  birth  has  been  enacted.  I  kneel  at  the  bedside  of 
my  precious  wife.  I  cover  her  hands  and  her  face  with 
kisses.  I  call  her  my  darling,  my  angel,  while  my  first 
born  nestles  upon  her  arm,  wrapped  in  the  atmosphere 
of  mother-love  which  her  overflowing  heart  breathes  out 
upon  it.  I  watch  her  day  by  day,  and  night  by  night, 
through  all  her  weakness  and  danger,  and  now  she  sits 
in  her  room  with  her  baby  on  her  breast,  looking  out 
upon  the  sky  and  the  flowers  and  the  busy  world. 

Still,  as  the  canvas  moves,  come  other  memorable 
nights,  with  varying  fortunes  of  pain  and  pleasure,  till 
my  home  is  resonant  with  little  feet,  and  musical  with 
the  voices  of  children.  They  climb  my  knees  when  I  re 
turn  from  the  fatigues  of  the  day  ;  I  walk  in  my  garden 
with  their  little  hands  clinging  to  mine  ;  I  listen  to  their 
prayers' at  their  mother's  knee;  1  watch  over  them  in 
sickness  ;  I  settle  their  petty  disputes  ;  I  find  in  them 
and  in  their  mother  all  the  solace  and  satisfaction  that  I 
desire  and  need.  Clubs  cannot  win  me  from  their  so 
ciety  ;  fame,  honor,  place,  have  no  charms  that  crowd 
them  from  my  heart.  My  home  is  my  rest,  my  amuse 
ment,  my  consolation,  my  treasure-house,  my  earthiy 
heaven. 

And  here  stoops  down  a  shadow.  I  stand  in  a  dark 
ened  room,  before  a  little  casket  that  holds  the  silent 
form  of  my  first-born.  My  arm  is  around  the  wife  and 
mother  who  weeps  over  the  lost  treasure,  and  cannot, 
till  tears  have  had  their  way,  be  comforted.  I  had  not 
thought  that  my  child  could  die — that  my  child  could 
die.  I  knew  that  other  children  had  died,  but  I  felt 
safe.  We  lay  the  little  fellow  close  by  his  grandfather 
at  last ;  we  strew  his  grave  with  flowers,  and  then 
return  to  our  saddened  home  with  hearts  united  ii? 


41 6  ArtJiur  Bonnicasttc. 

sorrow  as  they  had  never  been  united  in  joy,  and  with 
sympathies  forever  opened  toward  all  who  are  called  to 
a  kindred  grief.  I  wonder  where  he  is  to-day,  in  what 
mature  angelhood  he  stands,  how  he  will  look  when  I 
meet  him,  how  he  will  make  himself  known  to  me,  who 
has  been  his  teacher  !  He  was  like  me  :  will  his  grand 
father  know  him  ?  I  never  can  cease  thinking  of  him  as 
cared  for  and  led  by  the  same  hand  to  which  my  own 
youthful  fingers  clung,  and  as  hearing  from  the  fond  lips 
of  my  own  father,  the  story  of  his  father's  eventful  life. 
I  feel  how  wonderful  to  me  has  been  the  ministry  of  my 
children — how  much  more  I  have  learned  from  them 
than  they  have  ever  learned  from  me  ;  how  by  holding  my 
own  strong  life  in  sweet  subordination  to  their  helpless 
ness,  they  have  taught  me  patience,  self-sacrifice,  self- 
control,  truthfulness,  faith,  simplicity  and  purity. 

Ah!  this  taking  to  one's  arms  a  little  group  of  souls, 
fresh  from  the  hand  of  God,  and  living  with  them  in 
loving  companionsnip  through  all  their  stainless  years, 
is,  or  ought  to  be,  like  living  in  heaven,  for  of  such  is 
the  heavenly  Kingdom.  To  no  one  of  these  am  I  more 
indebted  than  to  the  boy  who  went  away  from  me  before 
the  world  had  touched  him  with  a  stain.  The  key  that 
shut  him  in  the  tomb  was  the  only  key  that  could  un 
lock  my  heart,  and  let  in  among  its  sympathies  the 
world  of  sorrowing  men  and  women,  who  mourn  because 
their  little  ones  are  not. 

The  little  graves,  alas !  how  many  they  are  !  The 
mourners  above  them,  how  vast  the  multitude  !  Brothers, 
sisters,  I  am  one  with  you.  I  press  your  hands,  I  weep 
with  you,  I  trust  with  you,  I  belong  to  you.  Those 
waxen,  folded  hands,  that  still  breast  so  often  pressed 
warm  to  our  own,  those  sleep-bound  eyes  which  have- 
been  so  full  of  love  and  life,  that  sweet,  unmoving  ala 
baster  face — ah  !  we  have  all  looked  upon  them,  and 
they  have  made  us  one  and  made  us  better.  There  ij 


Arthur  Bonnicastle.  417 

no  fountain  which  the  angel  of  healing  troubles  with  his 
restless  and  life-giving  wings  so  constantly  as  the  foun 
tain  of  tears,  and  only  those  too  lame  and  bruised  to 
bathe  miss  the  blessed  influence. 

The  picture  moves  along,  and  now  sweeps  into  view. 
The  Mansion  on  the  hill — my  old  home — the  home  of 
my  friend  and  sister.  I  go  in  and  out  as  the  years  hurry 
by,  and  little  feet  have  learned  to  run  and  greet  me  at 
the  door,  and  young  lips  have  been  taught  to  call  me 
"  uncle."  It  is  a  door  from  which  no  beggar  is  ever 
turned  away  unfed,  a  door  to  which  the  feeble,  the  de 
spairing,  the  sorrowing,  the  perplexed  have  come  for 
years,  and  been  admitted  to  the  counsels,  encourage 
ments,  and  self-denying  helpfulness  of  the  strongest 
and  noblest  man  I  know.  The  ancient  mistress  of  the 
establishment  is  quite  forgotten  by  the  new  generation, 
and  the  house  which,  for  so  many  years,  was  shut  to  the 
great  world  by  the  selfish  recluse  who  owned  it,  is  now 
the  warmest  social  centre  of  the  town.  Its  windows 
blaze  with  light  through  many  a  long  evening,  while 
old  age  and  youth  mingle  in  pleasant  converse  ;  and 
forth  from  its  ample  resources  go  food  and  clothing  for 
the  poor,  and  help  for  the  needy,  and  money  for  those 
who  bear  the  Good  Tidings  to  the  border.  Familiar 
names  are  multiplied  in  the  house.  First  there  comes  a 
little  Claire,  and  then  an  Arthur  Bonnicastle,  then  a 
Ruth,  and  last  a  Minnie  ;  and  Claire,  so  like  her  mother 
in  person  and  temper,  grows  up  to  be  a  helpful  woman. 
I  visit  my  old  room,  now  the  chamber  of  little  Arthur 
Bonnicastle,  but  no  regrets  oppress  me.  I  am  glad 
of  the  change,  and  glad  that  the  older  Arthur  has  no 
selfish  part  or  lot  in  the  house. 

And  now  another  shadow  droops.  Ah  !  why  should  it 
come  ?  The  good  Lord  knows,  and  He  loves  us  all. 

In  her  room,  wasting  day  by  day  with  consumption, 
my  sister  sits  and  sees  the  world  glide  away  from  her, 
27 


41 3  ArtJiur  Bonnicastle. 

with  all  its  -industries  and  loves,  and  social  and  home 
delights.  The  strong  man  at  her  side,  loaded  with  cares 
which  she  so  long  has  lightened,  comes  to  her  from  his 
wearying  labor,  and  spends  with  her  every  precious  fly 
ing  hour  that  he  can  call  his  own.  He  almost  tires  her 
with  tender  ministry.  He  lifts  her  to  her  bed  ;  he  lifts 
her  to  her  chair  ;  he  reads  to  her  ;  he?  talks  calmly  with 
her  of  the  great  change  that  approaches  ;  he  sustains 
her  sinking  courage  ;  he  calls  around  her  every  help  ;  he 
tries  in  every  way  to  stay  the  hand  of  the  fell  destroyer, 
but  it  is  all  in  vain.  The  long-dreaded  day  comes  at 
last,  and  The  Mansion — nay,  all  Bradford — is  in  mourn 
ing.  A  pure  woman,  a  devoted  wife,  a  tender  mother, 
a  Christian  friend,  sleeps  ;  and  a  pastor,  whose  life  is 
deepened  and  broadened  and  enriched  by  a  grief  so 
great  and  lasting  that  no  future  companionship  of  wo 
man  can  even  be  thought  of,  goes  to  his  work  with  a  new 
devotion  and  the  unction  of  a  new  power.  There  is  still 
a  Claire  to  guide  the  house,  and  the  memory  and  influ 
ence  of  a  saint  to  hallow  all  its  walls,  and  chasten  all  its 
associations. 

The  picture  sweeps  along,  and  presents  to  my  imag 
ination  a  resistless  river,  calm  in  its  beginnings,  but  torn 
and  turbulent  as  it  proceeds,  till  it  plunges  in  a  cataract 
and  passes  from  my  sight.  Along  its  passage  are  little 
barks,  each  bearing  a  member  of  my  family— my  broth 
ers  and  sisters — separated  from  me  and  from  each  other 
by  miles  of  distance,  but  every  one  moving  toward  the 
abyss  that  swallows  them  one  by  one.  The  disease  that 
takes  my  sister  Claire  takes  them  all.  Each  arriving  at 
her  age  passes  away.  Each  reaching  the  lip  of  the 
cataract,  lets  go  the  oars,  tosses  up  helpless  hands, 
makes  the  fatal  plunge,  and  the  sob  and  surge  of  the 
waters,  wind-borne  to  my  shrinking  cars,  is  all  that  is 
left  to  me.  Not  all,  for  even  now  a  rainbow  spans  the 
chasm,  to  promise  me  that  floods  shall  never  overwhelm 


ArtJntr  Bonnicastle.  419 

them  again,  and  to  prove  to  me  that  tears  may  be  in 
formed  with  the  same  heavenly  light  that  shines  in  liv 
ing  flowers,  and  paints  the  clouds  of  sunrise. 

The  noise  of  the  cataract  dies  away  in  the  distance, 
the  river  dissolves,  and  I  sit  inside  a  new  and  beautiful 
church.  The  old  one  has  been  torn  down  to  make  way 
for  a  larger  and  better  one.  It  is  communion-day,  and 
behind  the  table  on  which  is  spread  the  Christian  feast 
of  comme.moration  sits  my  boyhood's  companion,  my 
college  friend,  my  brother  and  pastor,  Henry  Sander 
son.  The  years  have  strewn  silver  over  his  temples  and 
graven  furrows  upon  his  face,  but  earnestness,  strength, 
and  benignity  are  the  breath  and  burden  of  his  pres 
ence.  An  event  is  about  to  take  place  of  great  interest 
to  him,  to  the  church,  and  to  a  large  circle  of  business 
men.  Mr.  Bradford,  for  the  first  time,  publicly  takes 
his  stand  among  the  Christian  family.  He  is  old  now, 
and  the  cane  which  he  used  to  carry  for  company,  and 
as  a  habit,  has  become  a  necessity.  He  takes  his  place 
in  the  aisle,  and  by  his  side  my  own  dear  wife,  who 
from  her  childhood  has  stood  loyally  by  him  and  refused 
to  unite  with  a  church  until  he  could  do  so.  The  creed 
has  been  revised.  The  refinements  and  elaborate  defi 
nitions  and  non  essential  dogmas  have  been  swept  away, 
and  the  simple  old  Apostle's  Creed,  in  which  millions  of 
disciples  and  saints  have  lived  and  died  in  the  retiring 
centuries,  is  all  that  is  read  to  him,  and  all  to  which  he 
is  called  upon  to  respond. 

Home  at  last !  Received  into  the  fold  where  he  has 
always  belonged  !  A  patriarch,  seated  at  the  table  of 
the  Lord  fiom  which  he  has  been  shut  away  by  children 
in  experience,  wisdom,  and  piety  !  He  is  my  father 
now,  the  grandfather  of  my  children,  and  the  little  wife 
who  has  trusted  him  and  believed  in  him  all  her  life  has 
at  last  the  supreme  happiness  of  communing  with  him 
and  her  daughter  in  the  holy  festival. 


420  Arthur  Bonnicastle, 

Why  do  I  still  watch  the  unrolling  canvas  ?  Tha 
scenes  that  come  and  pass  are  not  painful  to  me,  be 
cause  they  are  all  associated  with  precious  memories  and 
precious  hopes,  but  to  those  who  read  they  must  be 
sombre  and  saddening.  Why  tell  of  the  news  that 
leached  me  one  day  from  Hillsborough  ?  Why  tell  of 
that  which  reached  me  six  months  afterward  from  the 
same  place  ?  They  sleep  well  and  their  graves  nre 
shrines.  Why  tell  how  Aunt  Flick,  from  nursing  one 
with  malignant  disease,  came  home  to  die,  and  left  un 
done  a  world  of  projected  work?  Why  tell  how  Mr. 
Bradford  was  at  last  left  alone,  and  came  to  pass  the 
remnant  of  his  life  with  me  ?  Why  tell  of  another 
shadow  that  descended  upon  The  Mansion,  and  how,  in 
its  dark  folds,  the  lovely  mother  of  my  friend  disap 
peared  ? 

It  is  the  story  of  the  world.  We  are  born,  we  grow  to 
manhood  and  womanhood,  we  marry,  we  work,  we  die. 
The  generations  come  and  go,  and  they  come  without 
call  and  go  without  significance  if  there  be  not  a  confi 
dent  hope  and  expectation  of  something  to  follow,  so 
grand  and  sweet  and  beautiful  that  we  can  look  upon  it 
all  without  misgiving  or  pain.  Faith  draws  the  poison 
from  every  grief,  takes  the  sting  from  every  loss,  and 
quenches  the  fire  of  every  pain  ;  and  only  faith  can  do 
it.  Wisdom,  science,  power,  learning — all  these  are  as 
blind  and  impotent  before  the  great  problem  of  life  as 
ignorance  and  weakness.  The  feeblest  girl,  believing  in 
God  and  a  hereafter,  is  an  archangel  by  the  side  of  the 
strongest  man  who  questions  her  simple  faith,  and 
mounts  on  wings  where  he  stumbles  in  doubt  and  dis 
tress,  or  sinks  in  darkness. 


To   those   of  two  homes  who  are  living,  through  six 
long   and   ever-memorable    evenings,  I    have   read  my 


ArtJnir  Bonnicastlc,  421 

book,  and  nosy  they  are  all  with  me  to-night  as  I  dra\i 
the  chair  to  my  library-table,  to  write  these  closing  para 
graphs.  The  centre  of  the  group  is  Mr.  Bradford,  an 
old,  old  man,  though  he  is  still  strong  enough  to  hold 
my  youngest  upon  his  knee.  Henry  sits  near  him,  talk 
ing  with  Millie,  while  the  young  people  are  gathered  in 
a  distant  corner,  conversing  quietly  among  themselves 
about  the  events  I  have  for  the  first  time  fully  unveiled 
to  them.  Their  talk  does  not  disturb  me,  for  my 
thoughts  linger  over  what  I  have  written,  and  I  feel  that 
the  task  which  has  been  such  a  delight  to  me  is  soon  to 
pass  from  my  hands.  No  work  can  come  tome  so  sweet 
as  this  has  been.  I  have  lived  my  life  again — a  life  so 
full  of  interest  that  it  seems  as  if  I  could  never  tire  of  it, 
even  though  death  should  come  nearer  and  nearer  to 
me,  waiting  for  my  consent  to  be  pushed  from  the  verge 
of  earthly  existence. 

I  hear  the  quiet  voices  around  me.  I  know  where  and 
what  I  am,  but  I  cannot  resist  the  feeling  that  there  are 
more  forms  in  the  room  than  are  visible  to  my  eyes.  I 
do  not  look  up,  but  to  me  my  library  is  full.  Those 
who  are  gone  cannot  have  lost  their  interest  in  those  who 
remain,  and  those  who  are  gone  outnumber  us  two  to 
one.  My  own,  I  am  sure,  are  close  about  me,  looking 
over  my  shoulder,  and  tracing  with  me  these  closing 
words.  Their  arms  are  intertwined,  they  exchange  their 
thoughts  about  me  all  unheard  by  my  coarse  senses, 
and  I  am  thrilled  by  an  influence  which  I  do  not  under 
stand.  My  sister  sits  by  the  side  of  her  husband  un 
seen,  and  listens  to  the  words  which  he  is  speaking  to 
my  wife  and  hears  her  own  name  pronounced  with 
grateful  tenderness.  Mr.  Bradford  has  a  companion 
older  than  the  little  one  who  sits  upon  his  knee  and  plays 
with  his  great  gold  chain,  but  sees  her  not.  There  are 
wistful,  sympathetic  faces  among  the  children,  and  they 
cannot  know  why  they  are  so  quiet,  or  what  spell  it  is 


422  Arthur  Bonnicastle. 

that  holds  them.  A  severe,  restless  little  woman  watches 
her  grandson  with  greedy  eyes,  or  looks  around  upon 
those  she  once  had  within  her  power,  but  regards  us  all 
in  impotent  silence.  Of  them,  but  apart,  companions 
in  the  new  life  as  they  were  in  the  old,  are  two  who  come 
to  visit  their  boys  again— boys  growing  old  in  labor  and 
preparing  to  join  them  in  another  school,  among  higher 
hills  and  purer  atmospheres,  or  to  be  led  by  them  to  the 
tented  shores  of  the  River  of  the  Water  of  Life.  The 
two  worlds  have  come  so  near  together  that  they  mingle, 
and  there  are  shadows  around  me,  and  whispers  above 
me,  and  the  rustle  of  robes  that  tell  me  that  life  is  one, 
and  the  love  of  kindred  and  friends  eternal. 


To-morrow,  ah  !  golden  to-morrow  !  Thank  God  for 
the  hope  of  its  coming,  with  all  its  duty  and  care,  and 
•work  and  ministry,  and  all  its  appeals  to  manliness  and 
manly  endeavor  !  Thank  God,  too,  for  the  long  dissi 
pation  of  the  dreams  of  selfish  ease  and  luxury  !  Life 
has  no  significance  to  me,  save  as  the  theatre  in 
which  my  powers  are  developed  and  disciplined  by  use, 
and  made  fruitful  in  securing  my  own  independence  and 
the  good  of  those  around  me,  or  as  the  scene  in  which  I 
am  fitted  for  the  work  and  worship  of  the  world  beyond. 
The  little  ones  and  the  large  ones  of  my  own  flock  are 
crowding  me  along.  Soon  they  will  have  my  place.  I 
do  not  pity,  I  almost  envy  them.  Life  is  so  grand,  so 
beautiful,  so  full  of  meaning,  so  splendid  in  its  opportu 
nities  for  action,  so  hopeful  in  its  high  results,  that,  de« 
spite  all  its  sorrows,  I  would  willingly  live  it  over  again. 


Good-night ! 


6/ 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGION|Llg 

AA      000023919    4 


